


To Dance Till Dawning

by PunJedi



Series: Falling for the Flow of Home [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Hunk (Voltron), Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Pidge | Katie Holt, Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caladrius - Freeform, Cervitaurs, Curses, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Family Issues, Fauns & Satyrs, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Ghostlights, Golems, Hunk (Voltron) Has Two Moms, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Nymphs & Dryads, Pixies, Púca | Pooka, Selkies, Starts out light but gets darker, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 79,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunJedi/pseuds/PunJedi
Summary: If it wasn’t for the goddamned rabbit, Lance wouldn’t be in this mess.Somehow on a detour to a date, Lance manages to get himself embroiled in a war that ended millennia ago, a shady sickness plaguing the Kingdom of Altea, and one very disagreeable, very emo púca.He really,reallyshould've stayed home.Keith had screwed up. Royally screwed up. Zarkon plus Haggar plus Lotor plus Alfor plus Allura level of royally screwing up.Somehow, out for a run in the forest, Keith manages to find himself involved with a kingdom that wanted nothing to do with him, the ghosts of his past, and one incredibly annoying, incredibly talkative selkie.He wished he had stayed under his rock.





	1. As the Light is Falling

**Author's Note:**

> First things first:  
> Credit for this beautiful AU goes to catnippackets (go check out their tumblr to see the art that inspired this, under the faerie au tag)—I got quite a few scenes/ideas for the plot specifically from their art, and others were heavily influenced by it.
> 
> Some inspiration for all my use of herbal witchcraft goes to aknightley, because I read the curse au and fell in love with it. (The first one is called 'calling me to come back' if you want to go check it out—I recommend it highly!)
> 
> By the way, I use multiple types of scene skips throughout—a horizontal line is a POV/major scene change. Three periods (. . .) signifies just a little time skip. Some sections have several little time skips before the POV changes again.
> 
> The title is from the song Téir Abhaile Riú by Celtic Women, which is a really beautiful song you should go check out, it practically screams faeries. (It and the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack were my main sources of musical inspiration.)
> 
> Also: for this story's sake, since metal is a big no for fae, I changed the Blade of Marmora's name to the Pride of Marmora, and its members are Lions. I thought it was fitting.  
> And I used fae as the plural form of faerie—I have no idea if that's grammatically correct, but that's how I used it throughout the fic.  
> There are a few OCs in this—it's almost solely the real cast, but I had to take liberties with Lance's family, as well as one other character, who I won't talk much about so I don't spoil it. His name is Myrddin, though, pronounced Meer-thin.
> 
> That's about it—happy reading!

If it wasn’t for the goddamned  _ rabbit,  _ Lance wouldn’t be in this mess.

And while it did sound pretty dumb to blame all of his problems on a little black cotton-tailed bunny, Lance really wasn’t in the mood to think up a better, more flattering story. Because,  _ thanks to the rabbit,  _ he was sitting at the bottom of a ravine with a probably broken ankle and trying valiantly not to heave his guts.

He had been going along his merry way, on his way to a date with a cute pixie girl, when he had realized he hadn’t brought her anything and that a first date without some flowers or something was social suicide. Plus, he was already running late, and he didn’t have any time to head back or buy something. If he was a nature sprite, it’d be no problem; he’d just snap his fingers and then  _ poof! _ —perfect gift material. But no, he was a selkie, and aside from his fashionable seal fur coat, it didn’t really come with any obvious perks for a date.

So he had veered off into the woods, looking for any patch of wildflowers that was both a) not going to give him a horrible rash and b) reasonably pretty. But  _ apparently  _ the entire world was against him, and he had found the one stretch of forest without a single blasted petal.

He had heard a rustling near him, and against his better judgement, had turned to it. In hindsight, he should have run away screaming at the top of his lungs.

There was a little black bunny with its nose in a bush, its cotton tail wiggling as it burrowed deeper. As Lance crept closer, the rabbit tensed and pulled its head out to stare at him with wide eyes and rapidly twitching nostrils. Its nose was covered in what looked like juice stains, though it was hard to tell with the coal black fur. It was honestly adorable—maybe not as adorable as  _ himself _ in seal form, but pretty darn cute. Lance took another step forward, slowly lowering his hand toward it, hoping to maybe scratch behind those fluffy bunny ears—and then it bolted, running faster than Lance had ever seen a rabbit move. Within seconds, it was gone, and Lance was left staring dumbly with his hand still outstretched.

And then he realized the rabbit had been chowing down on blackberries, and a basket of fruit wouldn’t be too bad as a gift. He wasn’t sure if Nyma liked berries, but it was a better shot than invisible flowers.

He should have gone with the non-existent flowers.

Instead, he started picking the berries. He did actually have a little basket with him—Nyma had accidentally left it behind when Lance last saw her, and he had taken it upon himself to be the one who chivalrously returned her lost property. If he put some freshly picked fruit into it, that would just add to Lance’s gentlemanly image.

He popped a few in his mouth, and paused. The taste seemed different from what he remembered, but he didn’t really eat a whole lot of berries. Fruit wasn’t really a selkie food; he could probably put twenty fish in order by freshness, but with fruit he just had to assume that if that rabbit was eating it, it was okay. The bunny wouldn’t eat anything that’d make it sick, after all… hopefully. Unless Lance managed to pick the one rabbit in the forest that couldn’t tell a ripe berry from an overripe one.

So, when he had suddenly doubled over from a harsh wrenching in his gut while he was carefully picking his way over some rocks, he  _ really  _ wished he had ignored the rabbit.

As his feet quickly lost their traction on the pebbly slope, he cursed the rabbit’s name.

As his nostrils filled with the acrid stench of his own vomit, he wished it had never been born.

And as he slipped and fell, every rock he hit was another way the rabbit could die a painful death.

The thump when he landed roughly on his ankle was a string of sharp curses about where the rabbit could stick it and a prayer to the heavens for eagles.

Lance crumpled on the ground, struggling to retain consciousness as he scooted underneath a low outcropping, hugging his ankle to him and swearing colorfully under his breath.

Screw under his breath—if he wanted anyone to find him he was going to have to start  _ yelling. _

And he was out in the middle of nowhere, no one would be looking for him, and he couldn't bear to put any weight on his ankle. The pain, combined with the leftover nausea, was about to make him puke again—he was just glad he had left his selkie coat at home, because there was no way he was ruining his coat. Bad enough the clothes he was currently wearing were probably trashed already.

Lance heaved a sigh, ignoring the pang from his ankle, and started yelling. “ANYONE? I’M A LITTLE STUCK DOWN HERE! C’MON, I KNOW I CAN’T BE THE  _ ONLY ONE _ IN THIS WHOLE DAMN FOREST!”

It figured that he was a selkie; his best friend Hunk was a golem, so he had incredible affinity with the earth, and his moms had taught him sight magic from an early age. He could’ve sent faint mental visions to fae for help. And Pidge had  _ wings _ , for cryin’ out loud. She’d be zipping out of this ditch in two seconds flat, and then loudly complain about nature for the rest of the week. ‘Llura was the queen of the Altean Kingdom, and a caladrius; besides being able to turn into a massive white bird and fly out, she’d also have a massive search party after her and her cervitaur advisor, Coran, attached to her hip.

Basically,  _ literally anyone _ would’ve handled this more competently than Lance currently was. But he was a selkie, and all of his magic was concentrated near the water. Here, inland, in a dry as dust ditch in the middle of a forest? He was next to powerless. It’s not like flippers were going to help him climb the rock. 

He realized he had fallen silent, but he knew that it didn’t really matter. He could only hope that after a couple hours Hunk might cast out his mind and find him—but that would be hours, and he had just lost all of the contents of his stomach. He was hungry, injured, tired, and very ready to go home to the ocean. He’d have to call off the thing with Nyma, too—and she was  _ not  _ the type of pixie who would go for a broken first date, regardless of the circumstances.

Lance shifted, pressing his back to the hard rock wall and leaning heavily against it. This whole day was turning out to be a disaster. Maybe when Hunk found him he could just go home, dive into bed, and pretend the whole blasted undertaking had never happened.

He was just about to close his eyes and resign himself to a long, painful wait when a flash of motion at the top of the ridge caught his eye.

His gaze darted upward to find a small black blur hopping quickly down the rocks. At first, Lance thought he was hallucinating, and that same dumb rabbit had come back to spite him, but no—this was too big to be a bunny. But it  _ did  _ seem to be coming down toward him—for him. But why?

Stories of spells gone wrong and monstrous spirits that restlessly roamed the earth filled his mind, stories told in the wee hours of the morning under dim moonlight, stories told to make young fae behave. Stories of ancient battles, of ten-thousand-year wars, of dark faeries so vile they proved threat enough to urge an entire kingdom to war. Stories that Lance really,  _ really  _ wished weren’t circling through his skull right now, not when a possibly malevolent being was bearing down on him.

Lance watched with saucer-wide eyes as the lightning-fast form hopped down to the bottom of the ravine, kicking up a surprisingly large cloud of dust that made his eyes water. He blinked rapidly as a shadow appeared through the swirling dirt, scooting away as quickly as he could with his throbbing ankle.

A discernible black shape finally emerged from the cloud, creeping in Lance’s direction—and it was a goat.

A freaking  _ goat. _

A veritable barnyard-living, mountain-climbing, tin-can-eating  _ goat. _

_ That  _ was Lance’s mythical long-dead dark faerie. A goat.

Lance doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

That question was solved for him when the goat clopped toward him, accidentally stepping on Lance’s injured ankle with a sharp hoof. The selkie yelped in sudden pain as tears clung at the corners of his eyes, and he weakly kicked the goat off of his leg. The goat let out a small snort, almost as if amused—but Lance was probably just imagining things. Even so, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to trust this wild black goat in the middle of nowhere, and Lance found it in himself to trust an awful lot of skeptical beings.

The goat, though, was having none of his hesitancy, and was butting him insistently in the stomach. Lance frowned. “What do you want?” he asked, before realizing that a normal goat would probably not understand him, and if it wasn’t a normal goat he didn’t want to know what it really was.

The goat raised its head to stare into Lance’s eyes for a moment, giving off a very unimpressed, almost exasperated vibe, before going back to butting its head against Lance’s chest.

“Alright, well—” Lance really didn’t have any better ideas than talking to the goat and hoping it would give him a better clue of what it wanted. “Do you… want something from me? Do you smell food or something? ‘Cause all I have are some crushed, overripe berries.”

The goat looked up and held his gaze this time, shaking its head.

“Okay, not food… is there something else you want? That I have?”

Again, the goat shook its head, shaggy black fur twisting with the movement. It was a pretty cute goat, Lance thought, for a barn animal. It had wide, open eyes, and lots of soft coal-colored hair. Its ears were long, with two small ivory horns placed in between them. It must be young, then, and male—but it was surprisingly large, probably big enough for a little kid to ride…

Oh.

“Are you…” Now that Lance thought about it, it sounded stupid. But who was going to judge him, the sentient goat? “Are you trying to help me out of here?”

The goat’s eyes fluttered strangely, almost as if it was trying to roll them, and it nodded.

“I kind of got my ankle broken…”

The goat snorted, and Lance had to actively keep himself from exclaiming in offense. Which was worse: being laughed at by a goat, or  _ reacting  _ to being laughed at by a goat? Oddly enough, Lance had never really considered the question before.

And yet he was actually considering taking a goat’s help out of a ravine? With a broken ankle and lingering nausea? Was he crazy? Maybe if he accepted its help, it would bind him as a slave and he would be permanently in its goatly debt. Or it would just let him fall, and sustain even worse injuries.

But… it was either the goat or several more hours of restlessly waiting at the bottom of a cliff. Helpless. In the wilderness. Had that noise earlier been a wolf howling? It hadn’t sounded like it at the time, but this  _ was _ a forest. There could be wolves.

Or… or worse things. Stories as ancient as the hills floated back to him, full of strange creatures as black as night, two-faced and treacherous, killing for sport and waging war on all other fae. Malevolent fae that fed on shadows and thrived in the dark wilds, with blood-red eyes that paralyzed and fangs that devoured souls.

Lance swallowed thickly. Maybe… maybe the goat  _ was  _ a good choice.

“Are you sure you can support me?”

The goat’s nostrils flared, and it nodded, butting its head at Lance’s hand this time.

Lance huffed out a laugh. “Alright, alright, buddy. Calm down.”

Gritting his teeth, he placed one hand on the goat’s back and the other on the wall, and pushed himself up to standing. His ankle burned with the sudden shift, but with the goat balancing him, he was able to take most of the weight off of it.

The goat was watching him, head cocked almost curiously. Lance drew in a quick breath and nodded. “I’m good, Mr. Goat. I’m tougher than your typical barnyard animal.”

The motion that the goat’s eyes made was distinctly faerie, something eerie at how well it emulated an eye roll. It snorted softly and started walking, at a much slower pace than before.

Lance followed; it wasn’t quick work, nor easy. He had to put far more pressure on his broken ankle then he’d like, but whenever he let out a quiet gasp of pain the goat would stop and look over immediately, waiting for Lance to nod before continuing upward.

After what felt like days but must’ve only been an hour or so, they finally reached the top. Lance’s legs wobbled so much they felt like gelatin, and sweat was literally dripping down his nose. Water might’ve been his element, but sweat was taking a little bit too far—he needed a shower, or better yet, a dip in the ocean, stat.

Now, all he had to do was limp back to the road.

In the middle of the wilderness.

After he’d wandered off the path and gotten himself totally, thoroughly lost.

“Aww, crap,” he muttered, absentmindedly stroking the goat fur beneath his fingers. “Don’t suppose you’d know the way to the road, would’ya?”

He was startled to see it nod its head, but at this point, any shock he might’ve felt had dulled into mild acceptance. “Alright. Can you take me there?”

The goat nodded again.

As much as Lance’s legs were killing him, he knew he had to get back to the road. It was a fairly commonly traveled route, and he was far more likely to be found sitting along it then he was out here in the forest. With any luck, he’d be back at the ocean by nightfall.

So he started limping along, leaning heavily on the solid black animal beneath him and brainstorming ways that he might convince Nyma to give him a second chance.

He realized that he had left the basket at the bottom of the ditch, but by then it was far too late to go back and get it, and he was in no shape to climb that ravine and then back up again. Once was quite enough, thank you.

By the time they broke the line of trees, Lance’s legs were quivering like grass in the wind, and his ankle felt like someone was stabbing glass shards into it. It was a good thing his mamá was good with healing magic—otherwise he might be in for a long recovery. Good healing nowadays was expensive, and with so many young faeries to raise, it was already hard enough to make ends meet.

And after the accident, after they took on another mouth to feed… well, it was difficult. Lance had taken to scavenging along the coast and under the sea for good spell components to sell. It didn’t bring much, but anything was a help. Lucia, his older sister and his only selkie sibling, would sometimes go with him, but she was often too busy with her school.

Which, not that he would admit, made him kind of jealous. Don’t get him wrong—he was glad for her, he really was. She had earned her spot, and he was super proud of her. But he had been planning on trying to get into the same school, and after adding her tuition to their bills, it was clear they wouldn’t be able to afford his as well. And he couldn’t take it away from his sister—she was more talented with her magic, after all, and the way her eyes had lit up when she had gotten the acceptance letter… well, he  _ couldn’t  _ take it away from her.

So he had dropped out of school so he could work odd jobs full time, doing bits of water magic for faeries and finding rare spell components in the ocean. It wasn’t enough, it still wasn’t enough, but every time his sister came home on vacation, eyes sparkling and voice breathless as she talked about the latest enchantment she’d accomplished… that made it somewhat worth it.

A soft noise broke him out of his reverie, and he looked down to see the goat staring up at him. It bleated gently, and Lance wondered if he’d said any of his thoughts aloud in his daze. He hoped he hadn’t, but at this point, it didn’t matter—he was at the road, he’d be home soon, and he’d never have to deal with sentient goats ever again.

“Hey, uh…” Lance rambled, wondering if he was actually going to say thank you to a  _ goat _ in the  _ wilderness.  _ But his mamá had raised him to be polite above all else, so that’s what he was going to be. To a goat. In the wilderness. “Thanks. For, y’know, helping me.”

The goat bleated, snorting softly, and butted its head gently against Lance’s thigh.

Lance patted its side, taking slight pleasure in how silky soft it was. It really was a nice goat, despite being eerily aware and almost faerie in manner. If Lance had found it on a farm, he probably would’ve thought it a pretty respectable animal—Lance had actually spent more time on a farm than he normally admitted. Some of his odd jobs called for milking cows and watering fields with a flick of his wrist.

A faint noise made his pointed ears perk up, and he turned his head in its direction.

Sure enough, there was a faerie running along the path, their heavy footfalls kicking up grains of dirt and dust with every step. Lance could feel his mouth widening into a grin; he’d recognize that dark shape anywhere. Hunk must’ve started looking for him sooner than he’d thought.

As the shape got closer, Lance lifted a hand to wave. “HEY! HUNK!”

“LANCE!”

Hunk finally reached him, and swept him up into a bone-breaking hug. “God, buddy, I was so worried! I was kinda curious how your date was going, and I wanted to respect your privacy but I also wanted to make sure you didn’t need me to bail you out of jail? Because like, that one time…”

“That was  _ one time,  _ man.”

“One time too many, if you ask me. But anyway, I waited a little bit, but then I saw you stumbling through the forest, and I was like ‘holy crap,  _ that’s  _ never happened before,’ and rushed straight here. Thank goodness I found you.” He set Lance down gently, but the sudden pressure on Lance’s hurt ankle caused him to gasp.

Hunk frowned. “Dude, you look awful. Your clothes are all stained, you’re covered in scrapes, and your ankle’s the size of a baseball. What happened?”

“Oh, my man, you won’t  _ believe  _ the crap I went through today…”

As they limped to Lance’s house (read: Hunk carried Lance the entire way), the selkie told him the whole crazy story.

It wasn’t until after Lance’s head hit his pillow that he realized he’d never noticed the goat leave.

* * *

 

“So—I’m sorry if I got this wrong—but a  _ goat _ saved your sorry rear?”

Pidge was cackling by now, her wings fluttering to keep her an inch off the ground. Even Hunk was stifling a chuckle, his thick eyebrows shooting up to the orange bandana he had wrapped around his forehead. Lance’d like to say that this was a completely new reaction to his antics, but the goat thing was definitely not the weirdest thing that had happened to him over the years of their friendship.

“Yes. A goat. D’you have a problem with that, Pidgeon?”

“Nah, not at all, Farmer McClain. But do you feel like going and milking some cows? Tossing some chicken feed? Go at it whole hog, so to speak?”

Hunk chuckled and held his hand out for a high five. “Nice one, Pidge.”

“Why thank you,” she replied, grinning evilly at Lance as she returned Hunk’s high five.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I might be the goat whisperer… or, y’know, the freaky evil changeling whisperer, but—”

“Woah, hold up,” Hunk said, eyes going wide and eyes flickering amber. “Freaky evil changeling? Is this a possibility?” He walked quickly up to Lance, studying him closely. “Are you our Lance? What’s your mother’s greatest fear?”

Lance snorted, one corner of his mouth floating up into a grin. “That ‘Llura will one day actually respond to my flirting and make me king of Altea. Nah, Hunk, it’s me. And the goat was just a goat—it’s just, it seemed oddly sentient.”

“What’d you mean?” asked Pidge, adjusting her glasses; it seemed the only thing that would pique her curiosity more than Lance embarrassing himself was a mystery wrapped around Lance embarrassing himself.

“Well, it kinda answered my questions. I mean, how else was I supposed to get out of the ravine? It seemed kinda… faerie, almost, in its mannerisms. I swear it rolled its eyes at me. Twice!”

Pidge chuckled. “At least that’s one thing me and your barnyard friend can agree on. You’re very eye roll-worthy.”

“But, that’s weird, isn’t it?” Hunk asked, wringing his hands the way he did whenever he got nervous—which was often. “A fae-like goat? Who could understand you? How do we  _ know _ it wasn’t a changeling? I’ve heard stories of some dark stuff in that forest.”

“You know what I’ve heard…” Pidge started, dead serious, and Lance winced.

“No, Pidge, we don’t, we really don’t want to either—”

“I’ve heard rumors about Galra, still alive and hungry for revenge after all these millennia. That they resent Allura for being Alfor’s daughter, and they despise all of Altea for stopping their plague-like spread.”

“But… that was millennia ago. Thousands of years! How could they still be out there?” Hunk asked, eyes wide and worried.

“Allura’s still alive, and she was there for the war. It’s possible for them to be to.”

Lance had to try and shut this down; Pidge was fond of conspiracy theories, but this was a genuinely serious subject. And, to be honest, if he fought  _ her  _ logic, it’d be easier to ignore his own sense of unease. “But Alfor had the kingdom’s very energy linked to her, prolonging her life. She’s the  _ queen. _ With a kingdom’s magic sustaining her, of course she’s alive.” Pidge opened her mouth to reply, but Lance cut her off. “And you know as well as I that the same goes for Coran.”

“But the Galra  _ were  _ changelings. If they could manage to turn into the sorts of horrible creatures that terrorized Altea, they could manage a harmless goat,” Hunk pointed out.

“But the Ga—the  _ goat _ didn’t attack me. It just helped me out of a hole! How is that malicious?”

“Dunno, Lance, you tell us,” Pidge said, an eyebrow raised and a smirk on her face. “You’re the potential changeling.”

“Personally, Pidgeon, as the one who has a will-o’-the-wisp as a pet and dabbles in core magic, I think  _ you’re  _ more likely to be the evil one.”

Hunk nodded sagely. “He’s got a point, Pidge.”

She scoffed. “Sure, side with the selkie. The pixie’s the evil one.”

The dark-skinned boy shrugged, grinning. “The golem’s the one with the most common sense, though.”

“As you just advocated for Pidge’s freaky Galra conspiracies, I’m not sure you can get away with that,” Lance replied, grinning as well. The weight of the earlier, darker topic had lifted, returning them to their easy banter. “But I’ll bite. I certainly don’t win that award.”

Pidge snorted. “Damn right. As previously covered, you ate some random fruit in the forest, puked, fell down into a chasm, and managed to  _ farmer _ yourself out it. With help from a  _ potential _ —emphasis on the potential, I didn’t say it for sure, rein in those horses—Galra changeling. Goose egg on the common sense quotient for our favorite selkie.”

“Yeah, well, you spend half your time in the  _ forest,  _ where those so-called Galra stragglers lurk,  _ and  _ you work with core magic, which is what the Galra were so obsessed with,  _ and  _ you travel with a floating torch whose literal purpose in life is to draw fae in. If that doesn’t scream ‘hey I want to end my life prematurely and also have my core magic ripped from my very being and could you please forward my will to my friends, please?’, I don’t know what does,” Lance said, his grin growing wider as Pidge rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort.

“Says the one who—”

“Ah, hold up,” came Hunk’s voice, his eyes glowing amber as he stared out at nothing. “Coran’s coming. I’d drop the Galra talk.” The inner light faded as his eyes returned to their normal brown, and his head dipped to meet their gazes.

“Good call,” Lance replied.

“Yeah, thanks, Hunk. Dunno what we’d do without your inner intruder alert system.”

“Get in a boatload more trouble, probably,” Hunk said dryly, and the other two laughed.

A faint clopping noise sounded behind Lance, and he turned around. Sure enough, the brightly-haired cervitaur was indeed trotting up to them.

“Hello, Lance, Hunk, Pidge!” he called cheerfully as he stopped in front of them. “I sensed your scrying, Number 1—subtler than usual, I’m glad you’re making headway. Try wearing a pouch of poppy seeds and violets; that always helped me when I was younger and learning the tricks of the trade.”

Hunk’s face brightened. “Ah, thanks, Coran—I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve been burning wormwood at home when I practice, but a sachet would help when I don’t have my incense burners. Do you think aspen or dragonwort has better—”

“Alright, yep, important scrying talk, blah blah blah, aren’t we so clairvoyant—what brings you here, Coran? Has Allura finally come to her senses?” Lance joked, batting his eyelashes and grinning.

Coran chuckled. “No, Number Two, I’m afraid your so-called affections have not been returned yet. Glad to see that your mother was able to fix up that broken ankle of yours, though. I just wanted to tell you—Allura has been working herself to the bone lately, and there are no fae in all of Altea that can help her unwind like you three can. Her schedule’s clear a week from now, if you catch my meaning.” The cervitaur winked, his trademark smile widening under his orange mustache.

“Ah, but Coran, we would  _ never  _ kidnap a  _ queen  _ and force her to spend time with us,” Pidge said, a sly grin unfurling. “I catch no meaning whatsoever, as I’m sure the other two can attest in court.”

“But, ah,” Hunk cut in, “if you could keep the entourage busy a week from now, around 7:00ish, it’d be appreciated.”

“I’m sure, wherever our illustrious majesty will be on whatever date for whatever reason, she’ll be in very good hands,” Coran replied, grinning. His voice dropped to a low tone, just loud enough for Lance to hear. “Thank you faeries for your help, Allura’ll really appreciate it—after she stops yelling at you for kidnapping her.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Lance said, his grin mirroring the other three’s. It’d be nice to get ‘Llura out of the castle for once—it seemed like she was always in there lately, meeting with one committee or another and doing queenly stuff that Lance was sure he didn’t know the half of. Hunk could probably find a ghostlight cloud; a picnic and a hunt for ghostlights in early twilight was always a pleasant way to spend a night. And Lance knew that given a week, he, Hunk, and Pidge could come up with the best dang plans for a night out this side of Altea.

Coran bid farewell, and Hunk and Pidge immediately started planning what they were going to do when they “didn’t” kidnap Allura. After a moment of brainstorming, Lance joined them, fervently describing scenes of great relaxation, fun, and possible romance if the lighting was just right.

The matter of the goat was forgotten, as were Pidge’s speculations—but apprehension still prickled Lance’s stomach when he laid down to sleep that night.

And when Lance woke up in a cold sweat under the laughing stars, he couldn’t for the life of him recall his dream.

* * *

 

As Lance found himself in the forest for the second time in a week, he wondered exactly how he managed to get himself into these situations.

It’s not like it was specifically his  _ fault— _ the Nyma thing, well, that was an accident. And he had gotten a really good offer if he could find a bundle of cinquefoil to pair with a few shiny cowrie shells. Ocean components weren’t the most common, herbs and plants were—hence the cinquefoil—but they worked especially well when ground up, and Lance had been experimenting with them. Besides being good for any spells that involved water or weather, they had also proved particularly adept in empathy and emotion spells.

But he wasn’t going to manage to get his cowrie shells sold if he couldn’t find some cinquefoil to go with them, so he found himself wandering the forest yet again.

It wasn’t a particularly bright day—it was early morning, in fact, and fog still lingered between the shadowed tree trunks. Lance would deny it later, but he tripped on more hidden roots than was flattering to admit.

And then suddenly, there were no more roots to trip over, no more trunks to run into, and no more leaves dappling the ground with the little light there was. Lance looked up, startled—he was in a large clearing that he hadn’t known existed, that seemed to extend for quite a while, far into the thick fog.

The cloudiness was much more pronounced out in the open; the white wisps seemed to solidify into walls of damp murkiness, letting Lance see no further than five feet in front of him. He turned back to enter the relative clearness afforded by the forest, only to find a blank sheet of fog surrounding him on all sides.

“Well, damn,” he cursed to himself, and before he could think better of it, began wandering blindly through the fog. There had to be somewhere where it was clearer, right? And when the sun came more fully out, the fog would clear, so he wouldn’t be stuck wandering forever. This wasn’t like being trapped at the bottom of a chasm with a broken ankle; this was just being mildly inconvenienced and a little turned around. Plus, if  _ he  _ couldn’t see through the fog, it was unlikely anything else could either.

Anything… else. 

Epic legends and a pixie’s whispered theories came back to him, floating around his skull like a parasite.

The chill that crept down Lance’s spine had nothing to do with the cold mist beading on his shirt.

“Alright, Lancey Lance, good job. You freaked yourself out. Pidge’d be proud.”

It was comforting to hear himself talk, to hear something other than the oppressive silence and the white noise of the forest and the thumping in his ears that must have been his heart. At least, it was before he considered that anything else out there could hear him too.

Lance clamped his mouth shut and began to walk quicker, fighting to keep his heart rate under control. He was just stranded in some fog; there was absolutely  _ nothing  _ to be afraid of. Hell, Pidge had once claimed that the fae only  _ thought  _ they had the power; cats were the real masterminds. Her theories could be pretty wild, and those rumors she floated were  _ no different.  _

_ No different,  _ he repeated to himself.

_ Yeah right,  _ his mind said back.

_ Not helping, _ he grumbled.

He almost tripped and face planted into a bush and had a subsequent heart attack before he realized… it was just a bush. And foliage tended to be rather benign.

And, it was only after his near brush with death (or, less dramatically, a mouthful of leaves), that he realized he was face-to-face with a cinquefoil plant. The flower had the distinctive soft yellow color and five petals, along with the right sizing. Lance hurriedly bent down and took a few clippings, making sure to treat the blossoms carefully as he tucked them into a little pouch along his waist. He was so absorbed in the task, in fact, that he didn’t notice the shadow creeping its way closer in the fog.

That is, until he stood up and immediately froze in place, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears, drowning out all other sound. Lance had sometimes made fun of Coran for his deer-in-ghostlights look whenever he was startled by something, but now he was regretting it. Actually, he was regretting ever being mean to anyone, ever, because he needed all the good karma the universe could give him at this point.

The dark form got closer and closer, and Lance still couldn’t move, couldn’t make a sound. It wasn’t even that he was ensorcelled—he was just frozen by fear, dark thoughts running rampant through his mind, thoughts of beings with scarlet eyes and scarlet-stained fangs to match.

The shape was much larger than him now, much taller, and so close Lance knew it was about to step through the fog into his field of clear vision. He inched back, ever so slowly, wincing whenever his shuffling made noise; the shadow was moving much quicker than he was though, gaining on him, and it was about to reach him, and he couldn’t even close his eyes against the horror he was about to witness, and it was going to kill him—

It stepped out of the fog, and abruptly stopped when it saw Lance.

Lance stalled in place, eyes flying even wider.

It was a horse.

First a rabbit, then a goat, now a horse. All coal black; all, apparently, determined to vex him and make his life a waking nightmare.

Lance croaked out a laugh; he couldn’t help it. It was just too damn ridiculous, and even if he was still in for it, he couldn’t take it seriously anymore. It was a dark stallion that could probably trample him into the ground, but it was a  _ horse. _ He was beginning to wish he had taken more jobs at the farm, if this was where he was going to end up.

The horse looked startled by his laughter, and almost looked as if it were about to turn around and bolt when its eyes blew wide. It tossed its mane, letting out a frightened whinny, and Lance braced himself for the worst—and then it threw its head back and  _ sneezed. _

Lance choked on his breath; that wasn’t exactly what he had been expecting, based on the horse’s almost terrified expression.

But then he noticed something wrong. The shape of the horse’s snout seemed less defined, shorter, and it seemed smaller than before.

And, before his eyes, the horse began to change.

The muzzle shrank back into the skull, becoming a delicate nose, and its ears migrated from the top of the head to the sides, becoming firmer with rounded tops. Its eyes migrated forward, golden irises darkening into indigo. The mane shrank back to form a longish, just as messy hairstyle, which just brushed the newly formed shoulders. Legs shrank and became arms, and a previously horizontal horse’s body became the vertical one of a faerie. The tail was the last thing to retract, disappearing as it snaked into tight black jeans.

Lance’s jaw dropped. A… a changeling. The horse was a faerie. Pidge was right! There  _ were _ changelings in the forest!

The faerie’s eyes were wide as twin moons, his pupils blown huge and terrified as they met Lance’s. The changeling held his gaze for one count, then two, before his eyes glowed with an inner crimson light, and suddenly he was shifting into a small, furry creature Lance didn’t recognize. It wasn’t until the creature was bolting away into the fog that Lance found his voice again.

“Hey! Come ba—”

_ Wait, what?  _ Why the hell was he calling out to the  _ changeling?  _ He should be getting the heck out of there, and counting his blessings that he found the cinquefoil so he didn’t have to come back into this haunted forest ever again.

Without a backward glance, Lance started to run the opposite direction the changeling creature had gone. In the time that he had encountered it—him?—the sun had risen above the treeline, and the fog was finally dissipating, to Lance’s great relief. He found the faint trail he took through the forest in no time, and made his way back to the road, where he finally let himself slow down.

His heart was still racing, which he supposed was normal after seeing something that shouldn’t exist.

Because there was a changeling in the forest. Most likely, a  _ Galra _ in the forest. He had been in danger every second he had been in there. He was  _ still _ in danger now; all of Altea was.

And yet, as he walked shakily home, his mind kept coming back to the fear reflected in the other’s indigo eyes.

* * *

 

Keith had screwed up.  _ Royally  _ screwed up. Zarkon plus Haggar plus Lotor plus Alfor plus Allura level of royally screwing up.

He was almost glad Shiro had disappeared, so that he wouldn’t have to see the Disappointed Dad™ look that he had perfected over the past few years.

But then he  _ really  _ wished Shiro  _ was _ here, because he would have an idea how to fix Keith’s screw-up besides “hide in the cave and hope a war doesn’t start prematurely.”

Because that’s basically what Keith did! He could’ve just triggered a war months before one would have actually started!

That faerie from the chasm, the one with the ocean-colored eyes and the broken ankle, had seen him in faerie form! And everyone knew there was only one sort of changeling that lurked in the forest, and that was the age-old enemy of Altea. Never mind that the specifics of the 10,000 year old war had been lost to the Altean Kingdom; never mind the fact that not all púca were Galra, and not all Galra were púca (though most admittedly were—Zarkon valued pureblood). And while you could be púca, and you could have Galran core magic, that didn’t mean you believed in Zarkon’s rule. Keith fit both of those, and he’d just as soon spit in Zarkon’s face as bow to him.

But that didn’t mean anyone in Altea knew that much about Galra, aside from the two Legacies, Queen Allura and her advisor. But typically, when your kind was terrorized in an age-old war, you don’t bother to teach your people the specifics. Keith could understand that.

Unfortunately, that misunderstanding of his entire race was going to mess things up considerably. That faerie was going to warn the rest of the kingdom, which was going to spur Haggar into action, which was going to ruin the Pride’s plan and get Altea destroyed even faster.

He grit his teeth and tasted blood, unusually sharp canines scraping his gums. He was going to have to talk to the Lions, who he’d made a point to avoid ever since Shiro disappeared.

The Pride of Marmora was a rebel Galra organization that had been operating since the war. Only those with Galran core magic could join, most of whom were púca, and the Lions worked behind the scenes to overthrow the corrupt Galran government. Keith and Shiro had both been members… that is, until Shiro had gone missing, the Lions had had no idea where he went, and they refused to stage a scouting mission for him. Keith had gotten frustrated enough that he had left them, vowing to find Shiro on his own… but he hadn’t. Not yet, at least.

Though, as he ran to where he’d carved out a home for the past three years, he realized he had found  _ someone _ who could help. Someone with much more experience with non-Galran fae than him, because he  _ was _ a non-Galran faerie.

As soon as he reached the blank mountain wall that housed his makeshift cave, he shifted into a rabbit and hopped through the hidden hole in the ground that led into the mountain. He scurried through it and almost frantically shifted to his faerie form, eyes fixed on the figure in front of the fire and head spinning with what he had to tell him. In one corner of his mind, he registered surprise that his shifting was working so well; the panic must be focusing him.

Matt Holt turned around, then abruptly raised his eyebrows, mouth parting slightly in surprise. “Keith, your glamour’s down.”

Keith looked down at himself, and upon seeing snow white hair instead of coal black, scowled and quickly cast it again. The white faded back to black as violet lights swirled through the air, and he raised his gaze back up to Matt.

“Alright, now what is it?” Matt asked, moving to stand up. “You look terrified—and almost nothing could make you drop your glamour like that.”

“I—I was seen,” Keith choked out. “A faerie, in the forest, he—”

Matt darted to his feet, hooves clacking gently against the pebbles that made up the dirt ground. “Galra? Or Altean?”

Keith thought back—ocean blue eyes, sun-kissed skin with faint freckles, delicate pointy ears and a slightly upturned nose, practically radiating light and goodness. He almost laughed. “ _ Definitely  _ Altean. Or the brightest Galra I’ve even seen.”

“You stuck around long enough to read his core? Don’t you have to actively search for that?”

Keith felt his the tips of his ears reddening. “I—it’s not the first time I’ve seen him.”

Matt’s eyebrows raised, practically all the way up to the two small horns poking out of his shaggy hair. “And when were these other times?”

“A couple days ago? I was eating some blackberries—don’t give me that look, Matt, you know how blackberries are for púca!—and he saw me when I was a rabbit. And then he reached out, like to pet me? And I ran.” 

Matt snorted. “He tried to pet you? I’d like to watch any faerie try and rub you behind your fluffy rabbit ears.”

Keith scowled. “Watch it, Satyr. Anyway, I watched him from the trees a little bit as a cat, you know, to make sure he didn’t suspect anything, and he literally  _ bent down and started picking the berries! _ How stupid can you be? You  _ never _ eat anything a púca has touched! We touch fruit, and bam, it’s overripe enough to make you sick! So what do you think the idiot did? Ate a few berries and started vomiting! But he couldn’t have puked near the bush, he had to puke on the side of a chasm, lose his balance, fall in, and break his ankle.”

Matt watched with raised eyebrows as Keith ranted. “I’ve never seen you get this worked up about a faerie you saw in the forest before.”

Keith fixed him with a deadpan stare. “I’ve never seen this big of an idiot before.”

“I don’t think you can really fault him for eating after you—he just thought you were a rabbit, not a púca. He wouldn’t think a rabbit would poison itself with overripe berries.”

Keith grunted. “Still. What an idiot.”

Matt gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m pretty sure there’s more to it than that, but sure, go on.”

“I will, thanks. So he’s lying in the chasm, cussing ‘that damn rabbit’ out, but he’s not attempting to get up, so I skim his aura—it’s this bright, all-encompassing blue color, and he’s a selkie. So, he doesn’t have any magic to get himself out, and he’d probably just pass out from the strain if he did.”

Matt groaned. “So, you go down and help him out? Did he see you change form or something?”

“No, Matt, I’m not an  _ idiot _ . I shifted out of sight and climbed down as a goat, and through some pushing I managed to get it through his thick skull I was going to help him.”

“My God, Keith!” Matt exclaimed, throwing up his hands. “A sentient goat? Is he just supposed to think there’s magic goats in the forest where old Galra territory extended?  _ Everyone knows _ that Galra are the only changelings around. I was raised on stories of dark beasts foaming at the mouth with rabid red eyes. This selkie kid isn’t gonna assume you’re from a magical barnyard.”

“He wasn’t going to assume anything if he was lying helpless in Galra territory—’cause he’d be dead,” Keith grumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I wasn’t gonna let him die.”

Matt huffed out a breath, but it was softer. “Yeah, fair enough. By the time anyone came for him, it’d have probably been too late. And he wouldn’t even realize the danger until a Galra was staring him in the face and dragging him to Zarkon. Go on?”

“So, he used me as a crutch to hobble up the incline, and then he realized he was lost so I got him back to the road. Practically as soon as we got there, a faerie was tearing down the street shouting something, and the selkie was yelling back, so I ran back into the forest. He didn’t even notice I was gone; I had hoped he forgot about me.”

“But…”

“But, he didn’t, because a couple days later,  _ today,  _ he found me in the forest again. It was really foggy, and I was going out for a run, and I couldn’t see anything until I managed to run right into him. Luckily, I was a horse—not so luckily, I… I, uh—”

“Had a spell?” Matt asked, voice soft.

Keith nodded shakily. “I sneezed, and shifted to faerie. I had my glamour on,” he said, huffing out a bitter laugh. “Not that it mattered.”

“He definitely saw it?”

“Saw it? Matt, his eyes flew wide and his mouth fell open, and I was frozen for several seconds before I could move again. And then I shifted, reaching out for any form I could take, and he  _ called out after me. _ What kind of idiot—?”

“Well, he was just as surprised as you were. Maybe he’s the type to call after strange fae. Most likely he ran away right after, like you did. He probably hasn’t even reached the Castle yet, if he’s going to tell the Queen.”

Keith moaned, burying his face in his hands. “He could be going right to the  _ Queen! _ They’ll organize a manhunt, search the forest, only to find an army of Galra waiting to rip Altea’s core away from them! Haggar will suck Allura’s core magic, and Altea will fall. Everyone living there will die. And it’s not like they’ll stop there, no—with the power that Haggar gets from Altea, she’ll just keep expanding, spreading, like a plague—”

Hands suddenly grabbed his, pulling them away from his face so Matt could look him in the eye. “Keith. Calm down. It won’t happen; we’ll go talk to the Pride, get them to warn Altea. Thace has dream magic—we might be able to stop Allura from attacking without even revealing ourselves. It’ll be alright. We have enough resources in place to stop this from snowballing. So take some deep breaths, okay? Breathe with me.”

Keith concentrated on the soft sound of the satyr’s breathing and matched it, feeling his magic steady along with his mind. A half minute later, he felt calm enough to unclench his fists, and Matt let him go gently.

“You good now?”

“Yeah, I thin—”

A shiver ran through his body, from his heart to the tip of his fingers to his head, into his nose where it seemed to collect before snapping. He sneezed, and then his body was being needled and pushed and prodded as he shrank down—but before he could complete his transformation, there was a new force. It invaded his system, pushed past his barriers like they were made of tissue paper, and took his core in its hands and  _ jerked. _

With a cry of pain, Keith felt himself shifting back to faerie, his magic settled by the presence that forced it to.

When his mind stopped spinning, he could hear Matt’s voice. “—orry, I know it hurts you, but you normally can’t shift easily back afterwards, and we’re going to have to go see the Pride soon. Keith? Are you okay?”

Keith grunted, clutching his skull. These… spells had been happening for as long as Keith could remember, but they’d been happening much more frequently in the past year. A tremor would run through his body, build up in his nose until it  _ twisted,  _ and then he would sneeze and change forms. After it happened, it was more difficult to shift for a few hours and there was no controlling  _ what  _ he changed into. Matt was able to stop that… for a price.

When he had found Matt in a Galra experimentation facility and broke him out, the satyr had come to live with him instead of going back to Altea. Keith knew that Matt had family back in Altea, but he remained remarkably tight-lipped about the subject, simply saying that he couldn’t go back.

After Keith had told him about the Pride, his constitution was only strengthened. He could be fighting the Galra from the forest, with Keith, and weaken Zarkon before letting Altea get involved—he just had to stay away from his family a little longer. It was a hard decision, but Matt had believed it to be the right one.

And, since his affinity was core magic, he’d figured out a way to stop Keith’s spells when they occurred—it was just painful. Matt would quite literally reach into Keith’s core and twist it back into the form it was supposed to be, corralling it when it ran wild. He didn’t have any clue what caused it, though—he had speculated it was something that he couldn’t see, something that was hiding from him whenever he tried to look.

Normally, Matt didn’t take that route, and let the spell run its course. Unfortunately, when they had something to do, Keith needed to be able to shift whenever and to whatever and not crippled by some defect in his core magic. It made sense that Matt had done it this time—Keith just wished it didn’t make his whole body throb like it was a prison that a rabid beast was trying to escape from.

And Keith  _ really  _ wished that that comparison didn’t fit quite so well.

After swallowing, wincing at his bone-dry throat, Keith nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, trying to ignore how his voice rasped. “I’m  _ fine,”  _ he tried again.

Matt nodded, but his warm eyes were still worried. “If you’re sure, then… we’ll wait a few minutes, then book it to the Pride’s base.” He chuckled softly. “Hope they don’t mind unexpected guests.”

Keith couldn’t help laughing.

* * *

 

Lance had been abnormally quiet for the past few days, and on some level he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He was locked in a moral struggle of what to do, what to say, and who to say it to.

And, additionally, he wanted to tear his hair out.

Because he shouldn’t  _ be  _ struggling! He should’ve told Hunk and Pidge about the changeling as soon as he’d gotten back, and he should’ve gone to Allura with a warning of possible Galra lurking in the forest. If he warned her, she’d place a lockdown on the woods, and no more faeries would be put in danger.

And yet… every time he started to head to the Castle, he stopped.

The image of the changeling’s face before he shifted again—when had the changeling become a “he” in Lance’s mind?—was etched into his brain, and whenever he tentatively decided to tell someone it shone in sharp relief. The look of complete and utter fear, almost more terrified than Lance himself, was enough to clamp Lance’s mouth shut and set his mind roiling about what was the ethically right thing to do.

It  _ should _ be easy. Tell Allura about evil faerie in the forest, a faerie that was literally the age-old ultimate enemy of Altea, and save the kingdom: good choice. Protect said evil faerie with his silence because the damn faerie looked  _ scared _ : really freaking bad choice, bordering on treason.

But Lance wasn’t the type of faerie to make things easy on himself, and apparently ridiculously simple moral decisions were no different.

So he stewed in his silence, losing himself on longer walks on the beach, combing the shores and the waters for shells, and adamantly refusing any offers for plant components that he didn’t already have on hand. It wasn’t truly peace, but it was as close as he could get, and after a long day he didn’t even dream when his head hit the pillow. It was acceptable; he pushed the debate from his head and in turn sacrificed most of his other social faculties for it, for fear of saying something he couldn’t go back on. It wasn’t ideal, but it was alright.

And naturally, it didn’t last.

Lance could sense Pidge and Hunk at the breaking point—they had been respecting his boundaries before, but now they were both worried and curious, and Lance could tell avoiding them wasn’t going to work much longer.

But after coming home one day after combing the ocean floor, he realized that Pidge and Hunk were going to have to take a backseat. The changeling was going to have to take a backseat. Allura and all of freaking Altea were going to have to take a backseat.

Because, when he walked in on his mama’s quiet tears as she hovered over a cauldron and the sound of pained, uneven breathing, he realized that he had a much bigger problem.

“Mamá?” His voice came out weak, shivering, scared. He didn’t care. He was all of those things.

She didn’t even look up, just took a slow breath and wiped a tear before it could fall into the draught. “Where have you been, Lance?”

“The ocean, Mamá. What… what happened?”

Her eyes shot up to meet his for only a moment before dropping down to the cauldron again, but it was enough time for Lance to read the simmering anger mixed with desperation that lay under her calm surface.

“You would know if you had been here, Lance. You would know—you would know that your younger brother is  _ sick, _ has a raging  _ fever, _ can’t move out of his  _ bed. _ You would know that he can’t  _ sleep, _ can’t  _ eat,  _ and whimpers in pain in the meantime. You would know that ever since he  _ fainted _ this morning, your sisters and I have been working our  _ ears off _ to make him comfortable. If you had been here, Lance, instead of out avoiding us again, you would  _ know.” _

Lance was frozen in shock at first at his mom’s words, black thoughts whirling around in his skull.  _ Adrian? Sick? Fainting, fever, whimpering level of sickness? _

But then the tears started falling freely off his mama’s creased face, and her frame shook, and before he knew it Lance was over at her side and clutching her close, murmuring softly. What she had said had stung, played too close to his own insecurities, and he knew it’d come back to haunt him later—but right now his  _ familia  _ was hurting, and he was going to do everything in his power to help them.

“It’s alright, Mamá—you can cry. Tell me what you need, I can do it. I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier.”

His mother sniffled for a moment more before she straightened, eyes still rimmed in red but clear and determined, with the ever-present spark in them rekindled. “You’re a good boy, Lance. I know you were gone because you were trying to help out in your own way. But now we need you; your father’s away on an envoy to another kingdom, Lucia is at school and can’t afford to come home early, and Calista and Julia are too young to leave alone with Adrian. So I can’t leave, but our stock of herbs has run dry, and we can’t afford to buy the rarer ones.”

Lance felt slight terror prick his brain, because he knew what was coming next, but he also knew that he would do it in a heartbeat, even if he had his soul sucked out by Galra monsters.

“I need you to go into the forest and harvest some plants for me, and bring them back as soon as you can. They should bring his fever down, ease his pain.” She turned back to her cauldron, stirring gently. “I’ll need angelica, snakeroot, feverfew, marigold… and if you see any thistle or onion bulbs, bring those too.”

Lance nodded shakily, trying to keep his breathing under control. “Yes, Mamá. Can I go and see him first, and then I’ll leave?”

Now it was his mother’s turn to nod. “Of course—here, take this rag. It’s soaked in cold water and an adder’s tongue infusion. Swap it out for the one on his forehead, alright?” Lance took the rag and was about to walk toward the adjoining room when his mom turned. “And, Lance? Thank you.” She enveloped him in a swift hug before swiveling back to face her cauldron.

Lance smiled slightly. “You’re welcome, Mamá.”

The smile dropped as soon as he stepped into the next room.

It was dark, with a motley of flickering candles strewn along the floor and tables, and a few yellow ghostlights floating around the room. Bookshelves were pressed up against the wooden walls, and together with the stifling scent of herbs made the normally cozy room claustrophobic. There was a single couch with an old wooden chair right beside it; a limp form was lying on the couch that made Lance’s heart squeeze, and a young girl with long hair was sitting in the chair. 

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, a small form collided with him, gripping tightly around his waist and burying their face into his stomach.

He murmured softly, ruffling through the girl’s short hair. “It’s alright, Julia.”

The little girl sniffled and removed her face from Lance’s shirt, forest green eyes shiny with tears. “But Adrian’s sick!”

“I know he is, sweetheart. But we’re going to help him get better. Mamá said you and Cali are doing a great job helping.”

Julia’s mouth broke into a wobbly smile; it was short-lived, but it was there, and Lance relished it. “Yeah! We’ve been extra quiet, and we put washcloths on his forehead to cool him down. Mamá says he’s burning up,” she said, face grim, “but I haven’t seen any fire.”

Lance had to stifle a chuckle. “Mamá just means that he’s really hot, Julia.”

The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that the word you use for pretty girls and boys? Adrian’s not pretty.”

Lance couldn’t stop his laughter this time, and a chortle from the near the couch told him his other sister was listening in. “No—ah, ignore me when I say stuff like that, alright? And  _ please _ don’t start using that word like that. Mamá would kill me.” Julia giggled, and there was another chuckle from Calista. “I just mean, he’s overheating. He’s too warm—hot, like a day on the beach when the sun’s out full blast. But you and Cali are doing a  _ really  _ good job. I know when Adrian wakes up he’s going to be so proud of you.”

Julia beamed up at him, and Lance could feel the Gordian knot in his stomach loosen just the tiniest bit. Julia had that effect on him—she was his youngest sibling, only five years old. Next was Calista at eight and a half, Adrian at fourteen, then Lance at eighteen, and Lucia at twenty-one. Julia was an adorable ragamuffin of an elf, taking after their mother, and her smiles were known throughout the kingdom for their fatal cuteness.

His little sister ran into the kitchen, most likely to watch their mama work, peering intently at the different components and herbs that their mother threw in the cauldron. While it was obvious that Cali had the most promise with preparing potions and tinctures, Julia was fascinated by the different plants and found it soothing to drift off to the sound of their mama methodically chopping roots. It was likely Julia was going to grow into elemental magic, fitting for an elf.

Calista, also an elf but with long auburn hair and dark brown eyes, had an affinity for healing magic, specifically plant-based. Lucia was in school for her own brand of healing magic, which centered around using water to heal wounds rather than plants to treat sickness. Adrian had been working with Sam Holt, and was now working with Pidge, with core magic. Core magic was a rare affinity to have, but he couldn’t have had better fae to work on it with. Their father, a selkie, was an Altean ambassador, and their mother was a beloved local healer.

And Lance… well, Lance wasn’t sure what he was. He had an affinity for water magic, but it wasn’t particularly strong. It was honestly pretty basic for a selkie like himself, though selkies were a relatively uncommon faerie. He was good at finding components for spellwork, but lacked at the actual spellwork itself. He didn’t have a rare talent like Adrian or natural aptitude like Lucia. He was just Lance; good with other faeries, but with no real magical skill besides turning into a seal.

Just Lance.

Just like always.

The sight of Calista looking down at Adrian, pale and shivering on the couch, slashed a sharp knife through his insecurities. 

Cali was reserved, quiet, serious, yes—she wasn’t worried, drawn, exhausted. Adrian was kind, excited, determined—not weak, whimpering, sick. It was all wrong—everything was wrong.

And Lance had to go into the forest to fix it.

Fear of the Galra had fled him a long time ago. Replacing it was the fear of failure, and the cost of it.

When Calista looked up to meet his gaze with eyes betraying quiet terror, he vowed he would not let failure happen.

He might’ve let his family down recently by avoiding them, but he wouldn’t fail them again.

Five minutes later, the stars were the sole witness of his silent trek to the woods.

But he hid his tears even from the stars.

* * *

 

_ The plan will continue on, despite your foolishness. _

_ We are close enough to Galran command to handle any immediate Altean intervention. _

_ We will not alert the Alteans to our presence any sooner; if it becomes necessary, we can warn them psychically.  _

_ Thace will send a dream to the Queen just in case, but it will not reveal that the Galra are still alive. We cannot afford to give up our secrecy simply because an ex-operative was careless enough to be seen. We must hope that the faerie who saw you is thought to only be spewing nonsense. _

_ You’ve delivered your message, and we’ve chosen a course of action. You may leave immediately. _

Keith scowled. The Pride had made their decision about what they would do regarding the selkie and Altea days ago, and Keith was still brooding over it.  _ This  _ was the kind of inaction that pushed Keith to leave them in the first place; Shiro had gone missing, and it was suspected he was captured in Galran territory, but the Pride refused to even scout out the area! Keith had hit several small facilities in the hopes of finding Shiro when he found Matt and broke him out.

Speaking of Matt, he should probably get back to the cave. It was already dark and Matt liked to search Keith’s core magic under the light of the moon to try and see if anything would reveal itself about his… condition. He was in faerie form right now, and normally he would shift to something faster to get back to his makeshift home—but there was something deep in his gut that felt unsettled, and it felt safer to stay in one form than to change to a different one.

That is, until the crack of a broken stick and the swish of displaced leaves caused him to freeze in place, not even allowing himself to breathe.

He closed his eyes and cast his mind out, searching for magic, and nearly moaned when he saw what had made the noise. Only a few feet away, hidden by a fair amount of brush, was core magic bluer than any Keith had ever seen, magic that brought faint memories of waves lapping a sandy shore.

And the owner of said core magic was heading his way, seemingly oblivious.

Keith shifted immediately, surprised when his magic cooperated and he turned into a coal black cat, scrambling up to the nearest branch and waiting.

A mere moment later, the selkie stepped through the brush. A hood obscured his face, but he was carrying a satchel and a hand was slipped inside it, presumably grasping something. Keith cocked his head; what could he be clutching? An amulet, for luck or protection? Some herbs? He did seem to recall a distant memory of yellow flowers clenched in long, tan fingers.

The selkie looked around cautiously before crouching in front of a bush and carefully plucking stems with collections of small, puff-like balls at the tips and sliding them into the satchel—keeping one hand in the bag at all times. Keith leaned forward slightly, raising his tail to keep his balance. What was he holding—

A shiver ran through him, strong enough to make him lose his balance on the branch and start flailing wildly to regain it. He was so busy focusing on his core and trying desperately to stop the unwilling transformation that was about to occur that he didn’t notice the selkie bolt upright, didn’t notice him pull his hand out of his satchel and whip it forward—until a burning pain appeared in his foreleg and he was pinned backward, onto the tree.

Keith yelped in pain and surprise—somehow, his core magic had stopped shifting, at the expense of whatever was simultaneously scorching his fur and immobilizing him against the tree. He craned his head to look when he suddenly heard a noise—no, it was a voice, competing to be heard against the rushing in his skull.

“I know you’re a Galra,” the selkie was saying, tone hard but voice cracking. “Don’t try any of your tricks, and don’t try to run away.”

Keith would’ve laughed if he wasn’t in so much pain. Now, not only did it feel like his body was on fire, it felt like his very core was burning as it recoiled from whatever was embedded in his leg. He couldn’t run away if he tried.

“I’m going to take the knife out, and you’re going to shift to faerie, alright? Otherwise next time when I stab you, it’ll be in the heart.” Through the haze of freezing fire, Keith was surprised at the selkie’s voice. When he had read his core a few days ago, he seemed so light, happy, bright—there was nothing bright or happy about the deadly serious words. And they  _ were _ deadly serious—Keith didn’t know what had changed, but this selkie would not hesitate to take his life if Keith gave him a reason to.

So he nodded, mewling and praying that he would be able to shift if the faerie removed the knife. For whatever reason, his core magic felt slippery, difficult to grasp, impossible to use—and that was when he could even begin to concentrate past the flames licking through him.

And then suddenly, the fire was gone, and he realized he was falling a moment later. He barely felt the thump of hitting the ground, he was so relieved to grip his magic again. The selkie standing over him stepped away, face still cloaked, giving him room to shift. Keith was glad for it—even out in the middle of the wilderness, he felt claustrophobic, like invisible walls were pressing in on him.

He wildly took hold of his core and  _ pulled _ —and then he was shooting up, his legs shedding fur and lengthening into human limbs, his tail retracting, his head and face changing shape as soft fur thickened into hair. He frantically felt for his glamour, and upon not sensing it, cast a new one before he had fully finished shifting. What kind of spell did the selkie have on that knife that it would wash even inactive enchantments away?

Keith coughed, pressing a hand to his throbbing temple, before looking up at the other faerie. “Dude.” His voice came out painfully croaky, and he started coughing again before he could continue. “You are really lucky that you caught me and not some evil Galra.”

The tension in the air was palpable as the silence between them grew. “‘Not some evil Galra,’” the selkie finally replied, voice as hard as stone. “And what would that make you?”

“A not-so-evil púca with a headache,” Keith spat. “But if I  _ were _ a loyal Galra, your throat would have been torn out three minutes ago.”

“Only three?” the selkie asked, casually twirling the knife in his hand. Keith could swear it looked like metal—but no faerie in their right minds would carry around metal. “You Galra must have gotten soft over the past 10,000 years.” He chuckled, but it was mirthless—it sounded wrong coming from his mouth, like the laughter was so at odds with his personality that it warped in his throat. Keith couldn’t reconcile the image of the bubbling, bright selkie and this stone cold faerie with a burning knife.

The selkie pushed back his hood, and a gasp caught in Keith’s sore throat—this truly wasn’t the frightened-but-joyful faerie from earlier. His eyes were now red-rimmed and hard, his mouth set in a straight line, his eyebrows pinched and worry lines clear on his forehead. Tracks of dried salt were faintly visible above freckled skin, and even his core seemed paler than usual, but more volatile. More… desperate.

Something had happened between then and now to change him, and against Keith’s will, he found himself incredibly curious to learn what it was.

But that didn’t mean he was going to be nice to someone being an asshole.

“You Alteans haven’t exactly kept in top form,” Keith shot back. “Telling your kids stories like ‘eat all your vegetables or Zarkon will come eat  _ you _ ’ and ‘don’t wander out at night, the Galra will get you’, as the primary way to keep the legend alive? No wonder you’re so ill-prepared for a Galran invasion.”

The selkie’s puffy eyes went wide. “Galran invasion? There’s more than one of you?”

Keith sneered; so much for the selkie being sensible. “Obviously. And since you saw me and blabbed to your kingdom, Altea’s going to be destroyed that much sooner.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he didn’t know who he was mad at—the selkie, himself, Altea, the Pride, the Galra, Shiro, the world in general. Probably a mixture of all seven.

“I didn’t.” The other faerie’s voice was different; still reserved, still hard, but curious.

“What?”

“I didn’t tell Altea about you,” the selkie repeated, and then it was Keith’s turn for his eyes to widen.

“Why the hell not?”

The blue-eyed faerie scowled. “I don’t know, okay? You looked—I dunno, I just didn’t. Why do  _ you _ care, anyway? You sounded so pissed about it two seconds ago, and now you’re pissed that I didn’t?”

“No, I—look, I’m just surprised?” Keith had no idea how this conversation had turned around so rapidly, and his already aching head wasn’t really appreciating it. “I thought you’d—okay, I thought you would tell everyone, and that Queen Allura would stage an attack, which would just push Zarkon to strike faster, which would just lead in Altea’s fall. There’s a rebel Galra group working to weaken Zarkon, but they need time.” Keith scowled at the mention of the Pride, mentally adding that they only needed time because they never acted in the first place. “And if you told everyone about me, it would create a stir, and Allura might attack before the Pride got the time they need.”

The selkie seemed calmer than before, but still skeptical. He hadn’t released his hold on his knife, at least. “So you’re one of these…”

“Lions?” Keith chuckled coldly. “No, I’m not with the Pride. I used to be… but we had a disagreement, and I couldn’t stay with them any longer.”

“That disagreement didn’t happen to be about your clashing opinions on Zarkon’s rule, correct? As in, you realizing that you’re  _ against _ traitors of the emperor?”

That startled an actual laugh out of Keith, short-lived as it was. “No, the corrupt Galra government was the one thing we actually agreed on.”

“Good, good.” The selkie fell silent, staring down at his knife, and Keith let the silence hang over them like a lead blanket. After a moment, the selkie’s head lifted, red-rimmed eyes holding a new light, a new determination within them. Keith found himself entranced by the depth in those eyes before mentally berating himself; that knife must’ve messed with his head more than he had thought.

“Y’know, this is crazy, but… I believe you.” Keith’s mouth started to open to reply, but the selkie cut him off. “Not saying I quite trust you yet, but I think you’re at least telling the truth about hating Zarkon. And  _ that _ I can work with.”

Keith’s eyebrows raised even as his eyes narrowed. “‘Work with’? I’m not some lump of clay you can mold.”

“Don’t worry… what was it that you called yourself? A poo—something?”

Keith choked out an incredulous laugh. “You don’t even know what the actual species is of the civilization that you hate? I’d hope you were just an exceptionally stupid Altean, but I get the impression that the Legacies didn’t share their knowledge of the Galra.”

“Legacies?”

“Yeah—it’s what the Galra call your queen and her advisor. The two who were bound to the Altean core inextricably. They didn’t decide to tell you all everything, did they?”

The selkie’s eyes were fiery, now—not afraid, like the first time they’d truly seen each other, and not cold and detached. His eyes were burning and protective, and Keith finally saw how the selkie who ate overripe berries and subsequently broke his ankle could be dangerous. “Don’t talk about Allura and Coran like that,” he spat. “They’re better fae than you’ll ever be.”

Keith shrugged. “Honestly? I don’t doubt it. They at least fought for a cause they believed in and won, and proceeded to care for a kingdom for 10,000 years while everyone around them died. That takes a lot of personal willpower; more than I have. I basically broke down when the only real family I ever had disappeared. Now I’m living in a cave and I left the only place I could go to make a difference. Are the Legacies better fae than I am? Probably. But are they perfect? No one is. Get over yourself.”

The other faerie’s mouth had dropped open slightly—and to tell the truth, Keith was equally surprised. This faerie had stabbed him, discriminated against him, been an all-around asshole, and now Keith was spilling his life story?  _ That’s probably what comes from alone all of these years—besides Matt, and occasionally the Lions, this selkie is the first faerie I’ve talked to in forever. _

_ Kinda wish I hadn’t just told him all that, though. _ The easy way it had all flowed off his tongue made something in Keith uneasy—there was more to this simple selkie than met the eye.

And Keith could tell by the way the other faerie studied him that this would not be their last meeting.

Abruptly, he stuck his free hand out. “Name’s Lance.”

Keith tentatively shook it, eyeing the knife still grasped loosely in the other hand. “Keith.”

Lance nodded, as if pleased. “Now, Keith, let’s set some ground rules: we’re not friends.”

Keith scoffed. “As if.”

“Glad we’re agreed. Secondly: I won’t knife you assuming you don’t cast some creepy Galra spell on me.”

“I can barely change forms consistently, and that magic’s woven into my very being. Won’t be an issue.” 

Keith hummed to himself, surprised once again at how loose his tongue was. Telling a potentially hostile faerie that you didn’t have magic? Really,  _ really _ terrible idea. He hadn’t told Matt about his shifting spells for two days after literally taking him into his home. What  _ was _ it about this selkie?

Lance’s eyes widened slightly, but continued in stride. “Thirdly: our involvement with each other is totally secret. No one knows but us. I don’t want to be killed for being traitor because someone’s lips loosened around some random Alteans.”

“Pretty sure you’re the only one who spends any time with random Alteans here.”

“Valid point. Any random Galra, then. I don’t want your Pride coming after me.”

Keith huffed. “Trust me, they won’t. I already told them about you, after I thought you had told Altea about me. The Pride is too busy being important to actually do anything.”

Lance stared at him for a moment before breaking out into laughter. Keith stared, surprised—that was actually really nice laughter. Much nicer than the mirthless chuckling from earlier. It was melodic, and his eyes crinkled as his mouth was pulled into an instinctive smile.

Then Keith realized he was staring and looked away, uncomfortably aware of how the tops of his ears felt hot.

“Ah, yeah, I know some fae like that. All talk, no act, right?”

“Er… yeah,” Keith replied, scratching the back of his neck. Lance was awfully friendly for someone who literally just said that they weren’t friends. It was probably just his personality; he seemed like that kind of faerie, and that sort of personality fit his core  _ much _ better than the cold, lethal selkie from before.

“Okay, but anyway—back to the rules. I won’t tell anyone about you, including Allura. So rest easy about Altea attacking early. But: I need your help.”

Keith froze. This is where the whole negotiation would inevitably go to hell, because apparently it was impossible for Alteans and Galra to work together and Lance would ask something that Keith wouldn’t give. “Yeah?” he muttered.

“How well do you know your spell components?”

Keith blinked; that wasn’t what he was expecting. “Pretty okay. I live alone in a forest, after all.”

Keith wondered if vampires had to hide from Lance’s smile, because it was as bright as the sun.

* * *

 

It turned out Keith didn’t so much know components as know where certain plants grew and what they could be used for, which was good enough for Lance. All he needed to do was describe ‘the white star flowers in a cluster with little stringy things’ and ‘the daisy-looking ones that help fevers’, and Keith was leading him to a patch of forest much faster than Lance could have found everything himself.

And, through the downtime, Lance talked. He got the impression that Keith was  _ not _ talkative—kind of gruff, to the point, brief whenever he did have to speak, but that didn’t mean that Lance was going to walk around the forest in silence. Besides legitimately wanting to get to know the—pucat? Poocha? Pukam?—the fact of which was still a realization that surprised him, he  _ needed _ to get his mind off the reason he was walking around the forest in the first place.

So, conversation it was.

“Keith. Favorite color? Animal? Evil overlord?”

Keith didn’t even spare him a glance, just kept walking. “How are any of those relevant to anything?”

“Uh, because we’re unwilling compatriots against the race that nearly killed my people? Also, we have nothing better to talk about.”

“How about we just _don’t_ _talk,_ then?”

“So you’re one of  _ those _ types.”

_ “What  _ types?”

“Y’know, the classic stoic, suffering hero, with the ponytail length hair and tortured handsome eyes? Like, the ones that say ‘I’m in pain but at least I’m frickin’ hot’?”

Keith turned to him, eyes wide and ears slightly pink. “Uh…”

Lance grinned impishly. “Minus the frickin’ hot bit, though. You’re just like ‘I’m in pain’.”

Keith groaned, turning forward again. “I  _ am _ in pain, when I have to listen to you talk.”

“Aww, your heart hurts for me.”

“Look. We don’t know each other, we’re technically sworn enemies, we’re only helping each other out of necessity, and you literally said that we weren’t friends and never would be. Where there do you see an invitation for friendly conversation?” When Lance looked over at Keith, his eyes were focused straight ahead, aggressively pushing branches out of the way as he stomped through.

Lance’s gaze dropped to the ground, which was ridiculous, because the Galra—not Galra? Rebel Galra? Lance didn’t quite know how it worked—was right. They  _ weren’t _ friends, and they certainly weren’t working together out of a desire to spend time with the other faerie. So why did Keith saying it make it seem that much more painful?

Probably because he beat Lance to the punch, made him look stupid. That sounded right.

They walked in silence for a few minutes more, and then there was a small hum from Lance’s side.

“But… red. Hippo. And Groggery the Infirm.”

Lance grinned. He was getting through to the Galra boy after all. “Hippo? Really? Aren’t those a myth?”

“No!” The retort was so vehement that Lance burst out laughing. “They’re real, they just don’t live around here. Just because you’ve never seen one doesn’t mean it’s not real. If someone had told you what a human was before you’d seen one, don’t you think you’d’ve thought  _ they  _ were fake?”

Lance hummed. “You have a point. Weak, magicless, flesh sacks trapped on a walking pile of bones with ugly rounded ears? Hippos sound realer.”

Keith nodded. “And so the selkie sees sense. What about you?”

“Oh, uh… blue. I dunno, shark maybe? Or seal, but that sounds kinda conceited. And I’m pretty sure my older sister counts as an evil overlord.”

“How so?”

“She wouldn’t use her powers of persuasion to snatch me extra cookies when I was a kid, so I think starving small children counts as evil.”

Keith burst out laughing—which was a much nicer sound than Lance had thought it would be. It was soft, youthful, and completely at odds with his emo bad-boy vibe he gave off. It was surprising—but nice. The realization was surprising in and of itself.

_ Suppose you can’t dislike  _ everything  _ about him. I bet even Zarkon has a nice singing voice or something. _

Lance realized Keith had started talking and smiled despite himself. Now look who was chatting and being all irrelevant. “—ink that counts, Lance. But as someone who has experienced older-sibling-injustice, I’ll bite.”

“Good, good. My friend Hunk doesn’t have any siblings, and he always thinks I’m exaggerating the crimes of mine. But between an older sister who never stole me treats and three younger siblings that have worked together to wake me up at the crack of dawn with various anemones they found in the tidepools, I can safely vouch for their collective wrongdoing.”

Keith laughed again, and Lance berated himself for idly thinking how nice a sound it was.

_ One decent thing. Zarkon. Good singing voice.  _

“Tell me about it. One time, Shiro brought—” Keith abruptly fell silent, and Lance looked over at him. His face was drawn, closed off, and his eyes were stormy. Apparently family was not a safe topic… and now that Lance thought about it, it was probably best to not think about his own.

A too pale face and glassy, unfocused eyes floated to the top of his thoughts. He shoved it back down aggressively.

Definitely not family.

Alright. Lance could work around the awkward and uncomfortable. He was getting the impression that Keith was just naturally awkward and uncomfortable, anyway. “So. What did you say you were again? A poo—somethin’? Pukan? Plucan? Polka?”

Keith snorted softly. “A púca. Spelled P-U-C-A, accent on the u. We’re shapeshifters. Most Galra are púca, ‘cause, y’know, purity and whatever bullcrap Zarkon harps about. But not all púca are Galra, it just depends on where your core’s linked to. I’m a Galran púca, but if I were born to Altean parents, I’d be Altean with Altean core magic. Like you are.”

Lance nodded. “Core magic’s not different for Galra, right? Your core is based on your parentage, and it doesn’t change from nationality to nationality unless someone skilled in core magic tinkers with it?”

“Right. And, if the hearth of your core dies, you start to, as well. That’s why all the Alteans thought Daibazaal—”

“Daibazaal?”

“What the Galra call the Galran Kingdom. We have our own language, actually, that’s not just Common.”

“That’s pretty cool. What’s it sound like?”

“Like a owl gutturally hawking up the bones and fur of the mouse it just ate whole, if the owl was cackling and was a bass in a choir of hyenas. And to a lot of Galra, Common sounds like the mouse. Squealing for help.”

“…oh.”

“Yeah. We Galra are nothing if not poetically grotesque.”

“Do… uh, do I sound like an about-to-be-devoured mouse to you?”

“Nah. I never really liked the Galran language. Too primal. Common is much more melodic.”

“Yeah, my mama still speaks a human tongue passed down from our ancestors. She’s been teaching it to me since I was born, so I’m bilingual, too. And  _ my _ second tongue doesn’t sound like regurgitating owls.”

“I’m sure.” Keith’s voice was dry, but Lance could detect a faint undercurrent of amusement that made him irrationally pleased. Before he could pursue that annoying train of thought and try and shut it down for good, Keith spoke. “Do you want to hear the rest of the story or not?”

Lance nodded. “Go ahead.”

“So, once a kingdom’s core dies, everyone connected to it dies too. That’s why, when the Alteans destroyed Daibazaal, they thought we were all dead. But one faerie, Haggar, managed to leech the remaining magic out of the core before it was completely destroyed, and she used it to sustain herself for 10,000 years. And, not only that, but she used it to put everyone in the kingdom to sleep. It was only about three years ago that she sensed something and woke us all up with the power she’d cultivated.”

Lance stopped in his tracks as what Keith said registered. “‘Us’?” he asked. “You mean you’re—”

“10,000 years old, yeah.” Keith’s grin was wry as he stopped and turned to face Lance. “10,019, technically. I wasn’t even an adult before we all were put to sleep. But better sleeping than dying, I guess. It was kind of a shock when I woke up in the middle of nowhere and the only Altean names I recognized were Allura and Coran… oh, and when the Galra around me started trying to kill me, because I managed to fall asleep right in the middle of a mission for the Pride.”

Lance chuckled faintly at the thought, but was too wrapped up in what Keith had said to reply. Keith was as old as Allura, then. All of the Galra that were alive during Alfor’s time, that had supposedly been wiped out when the Galran Kingdom’s core was destroyed, had just been lying dormant all this time. 

And Lance couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must’ve felt like to wake up with all the fae you once knew, aside from your enemies and tentative allies, long since passed.

“Did… did you know many Alteans?”

Keith closed his eyes and sighed, and for a moment Lance thought he wasn’t going to answer. But then… “Yeah. I did. Daibazaal and Altea weren’t as separated as they’re perceived to have been now. It was only in the last year before the war that things started getting tenuous, and it only took about a year for Altea to ‘destroy’ Daibazaal. So… yeah. I had Altean friends. More Altean friends than Galran friends, actually.”

“Not popular among the púca, eh?”

Keith laughed softly, but it was a sad, quiet laugh that made something in Lance curl up. “No. I was never… normal. For more reasons than one. But Alteans didn’t care if my shifting didn’t always work or my magic was weird. At least… a few didn’t. And they were enough.”

Lance was dying to ask more, to know who the hell had managed to get through to this boy all those years ago when he wasn’t hardened by war and grief. But he could sense when something was a sensitive topic, and this one was flashing bright red warning signs. The faraway, sorrowful look in Keith’s indigo eyes showed that clearly enough.

“Hey, at least you’ve got me,” Lance joked, not quite sure what he was saying but determined to get the lost expression off of Keith’s face. “You don’t just have grumpy all-important púca allies anymore.”

Keith’s nose scrunched up as his eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you said we weren’t friends?”

“More like tentative acquaintances with a mutual goal, yeah. But unlike your other tentative acquaintances with mutual goals,  _ I  _ am a charming and devilishly interesting individual.”

Keith stared at him, and for a moment Lance wondered if he’d said the wrong thing, but then he threw his head back and laughed. Hard. A little harder than Lance typically liked to be laughed at for saying that he was charming, but since Keith’s eyes were no longer clouded over with painfully fresh memories, he’d call it a success. Lance took what he could get, after all; otherwise, he would not be chatting with a Galra in the forest.

“Sure,” the púca gasped.  _ “Sure.” _

“Hey!”

Keith finally got his mirth under control, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Alright, I’ll give you that you’re better company than the Pride. But that’s  _ all _ I’ll give you.”

“Aw, Keith,” Lance said, a fake pout unable to conceal a real grin. “I thought you cared.”

“I care about not getting stabbed, which is what’ll happen if I tick you off, so there’s that,” Keith said, then hummed. “What’s that knife even made of? What kind of spells have you got on it?”

“Uh, it’s some sorta metal. It’s got an—”

“What?” Keith exclaimed, eyes flaring wide. “Metal? Dude, do you want to die?”

Lance stared for a second and then burst out laughing—he had completely forgotten what was true of most metal, and that to most fae carrying around a metal blade sounded clinically insane. “Oh, no—it’s not like most metal. It’s been spelled so it won’t suck my magic, and I’m careful to hold the wooden hilt so I don’t burn. It’s all cool.”

“Cool? Lance, that thing felt like all of hell decided to possess it at once. I could feel it trying to leech my magic—when I could think through the burning. How can you not feel any of that?”

Lance pulled out his knife and started twirling it—partly to look cool, but mostly to be annoying. “It’s an Olkarion blade—my papá got it for me when I was younger, on some ambassador business or whatever. Have you heard of the Olkari?”

Keith’s eyes were visibly transfixed on the blade when he nodded. “Uh, yeah. The ones with the incredible gift for core magic—but they call it dust magic, after some old proverb or something. I don’t know, I can’t say I was really listening when Myr—” He stopped, mid-word, his eyes going both scared and sad at the same time, before clearing his throat and continuing. “Er, during my lessons. But, yeah, I know who the Olkari are.”

“Right,” Lance said, pretending to have missed Keith’s slip-up. “So, they’re the only fae I know of who’ve evolved to work with metal; their dust magic is the only kind in the known kingdoms that will adapt to it and shape it, rather than just being absorbed. They manage to insert tiny pockets of core magic into the knife, so it will not only sustain itself but provide a little boost to the wielder. It’s basically like its own tiny, self-sustaining kingdom—if you owned the knife, and your kingdom’s core fell, you would be able to survive. Just barely, but survive nonetheless.”

Keith was regarding the knife with open awe now. “And, if someone other than the current wielder tries to use it or steal it?”

“It won’t work for them, and will suck their magic away just like any normal metal would. And for the knife to change ownership, it has to be freely given. The Olkari gave it to my papa, who in turn gave it to me. It’s connected to my core, now.”

“Can—can I hold it? Just to look at it, I mean. I obviously can’t keep it for long, or y’know, magic drainage, but—”

“Yeah, sure.” Lance stuck the knife out, and Keith took it almost reverently, holding it at a distance and staring at it with wide eyes. Some small part of Lance was rather rudely asking him why he just gave a weapon to a potential threat, but most of him was watching with quiet contentment at Keith’s awed expression.

After the initial scan, Keith brought it in closer, poising one hand above it as if he wanted to get as close as physically possible to touching it without burning himself.

And then a curious thing happened—as if someone had dripped ivory paint into inky water, the blackness at the tips of Keith’s bangs receded, replaced with snow white. His ears seemed a little longer, too, and there were freckles that Lance hadn’t noticed before—but then the knife was being yanked away from Keith’s face and he returned to normal, eyes blown wide as they met Lance’s.

“Wha—”

“Don’t ask.” The hostility rolled off of Keith in tangible waves, clear and foreboding and warning Lance to not press the issue. This wasn’t how he looked even when his old friend from Altea was mentioned—then, he looked wistful, melancholy. Now he looked practically feral, and Lance could finally see where the Galra got their reputation from. “Just don’t. Ask.”

“Alright, man, it’s cool,” Lance replied, holding up his hands and trying to appear as non-threatening as possible. “We’ve all got our secrets. It’s no big. I won’t pry.”

The immediate warning in Keith’s eyes dissipated, but the fire within them remained, and it was clear they weren’t going to be able to go back to their more casual banter. Reflecting back, Lance thought that this was probably how it should’ve been from the start; detached, cold, allies only by chance.

And he wondered why some deep, buried part of him rejected the change with everything it had.

“Okay,” Keith replied, but he was skeptical, wary, a cat with its back arched and a dog with its hackles raised. He tossed the knife back, and Lance had to scramble to catch it by the handle. “Let’s… let’s keep going.”

Lance realized that they had been stopped for a while now, and he felt immediately guilty. His mama, Calista, Julia,  _ Adrian _ were counting on him, and what was he doing? Letting himself get distracted by a Galra shapeshifter in the woods. “Alright,” Lance replied cautiously. “We still need the marigolds.”

Keith nodded sharply before turning and stalking off. Lance waited, staring after him, and slowly followed. He sighed.

_ This,  _ Lance thought,  _ is going to be a difficult partnership. _

And oddly enough, he felt like it might end up worth it.

* * *

 

Keith made it back to faerie form before he collapsed on the cave floor, but only barely. Some distant part of his mind registered surprise at the easy shift, but most of him was focused on the agony that radiated from his left arm.

“Keith!” Matt exclaimed, running over. “What did you do this time? You said you were just going out for a run to clear your head! How much trouble—never mind, don’t answer that. What the hell happened?”

Keith groaned. “Burn,” he croaked, maneuvering so that his burned arm was visible. “Under jacket.”

“Good God, Keith,” Matt muttered as he started ripping through the jacket, inhaling sharply when he saw what it revealed. He immediately set his blissfully cool hands on the wound and closed his eyes, concentrating. “Just ‘cause you’re some kind of emo badboy doesn’t mean you have to pick fights with every squirrel that eyeballs you.”

The púca scowled. “You sound like La—”

_ Oh, hell. _

Matt’s head immediately darted upward, intelligent eyes focused on Keith’s.  _ “Who  _ do I sound like?”

“Uh, Shiro,” Keith tried, even though it was obviously futile. Apparently the pain had addled him more than he’d originally thought; naturally the first thing he did was blab about what had  _ really  _ happened. “Y’know, he was always saying that I’d fight every woodland animal that looked sideways at me, it’s noth—”

“Keith. Bud. My dark emo friend. I’m not an idiot. You weren’t about to say Shiro, and you weren’t about to say any of the Lions. Who was it?”

Keith sighed; maybe any other day he could win in a battle of bull-headedness, but with his burned arm still pulsing spikes of pain through his body and Matt’s soft, soothing hands radiating coolness, he couldn’t make himself hold out. “Lance. The selkie, from earlier. We, uh—we talked.”

The satyr’s eyes had gone wide. “Holy crow, Keith. A faerie? Why—wait.” The blood seemed to drain from Matt’s face, and Keith could sense his core pulsing rapidly in panic. “Lance? You said his name was Lance?”

“Mhm.” When Matt seemed incapable of replying, Keith continued. “Little taller than me, blue eyes, tan skin. Short brown hair. A selkie, like I said.” With every description, the vibration of Matt’s core grew wilder, and Keith wondered what effect Lance could possibly have over the satyr. Matt had never been very forthcoming about his past, aside from the rock solid conviction that he didn’t want Keith to sneak him back into Altea. “Matt?”

“He—Lance, he was, or is, one of my sister’s best friends.” The words seemed to create a fantasy in his mind that no one else could see, because his face went even paler. “Keith. You can’t tell him about me. Do you hear me?  _ He can’t know.” _ Matt was shaking now, and despite Keith being the one with the burn, he found himself reaching out with his good arm to lay it on Matt’s shoulder.

“I won’t tell, Matt. I promise. Alright? It’s not like we’re friends or anything, anyway.” The last words sent a strange pang through Keith’s chest that he didn’t understand. He didn’t  _ want _ to be friends with the cocky, chatty asshole who stabbed him and proceeded to pretend like he was the grand expert in all things Galra. The idiot didn’t even know what a púca was. Why would Keith ever want a friend like that?

_ Might be his smile,  _ a part of his mind buried deep whispered.  _ It reminds you of— _

“I  _ know  _ who it reminds me of,” Keith hissed, then flushed as Matt stared at him and he realized he had said it aloud.

_ Great. Now I’m talking to myself. _

_What a day this_ _has shaped up to be._

“I won’t tell him,” Keith said firmly, feeling out for to Matt’s core but not quite being able to touch it. It was like a rabbit’s pulse—fluttering, fast, ready to bolt at any moment—and it was moments like these where Keith wished he had inherited regular core magic so could reach out and calm Matt’s.

Matt’s eyes had settled when he met Keith’s steady gaze. “Thanks, Keith. I really appreciate it.”

Keith nodded, and they lapsed gently into silence, both wrapped up in their own thoughts. Eventually Keith was able to move to sit against the wall, and a little later Matt proclaimed his arm as healed as it would get in one night and curled up in front of the fire. Keith watched him for a minute, something deep within him fighting sleep, but the cozy heat of the fire lulled him to a drowsy stupor and his eyes slid shut at last.

_ Keith was in a rolling field, pink juniberries in full bloom around him. The sky was crystal clear, the slight breeze refreshing, and the air not too damp nor too dry. It was perfect. _

_ He had never felt anything more wrong in his life. _

_ His feet floated over the spring green grass, moving somewhere he didn’t know but wanted to avoid. His legs would not obey him, and continued taking him across the field. _

_ Soon the forest was in sight, the one that marked the edge of Galra territory—where Altean grass met Galran trees, where one kingdom stopped and the other started. He had always felt a kinship to this place, for he had never truly felt of one kingdom nor the other. He was Galran, but the only ones who accepted him were Altean. He had no love for Daibazaal, but it was his home, and he was inextricably bound to it. _

_ He met the border, but instead of crossing, he merely continued down the line of trees. He had no doubt now that he was looking for something, though he was baffled as to what it might be. _

Wrong,  _ he thought.  _ It’s going to be wrong.

_ Finally he broke the tree line, just a few feet into the forest, into a secluded glen that looked separate from the rest of the world. Outside the glen, branches swayed in gentle wind, leaves fell to the ground, grass shuddered as animals crawled through it. Inside, everything was deathly still, deathly silent. _

_ The azure water of the pond was crystalline, rays of yellow sunlight trapped within like a glittering insect in amber. Vibrant green grass grew at even lengths, not as exact as if they were cut to be so, but more exact than nature usually afforded. The juniberries that grew in clusters were rich pink, petals held suspended in delicate folds. The lone tree in the center bore luscious pears, and the trees ringing the glen were tall, dark, with intense browns and emeralds, dappling the ground where they stood with shadow. A willow’s branches hung over the pond, vivid green leaves utterly still. _

_ It was perfect, but wrong. _

_ And that had nothing to do with the impossible beauty, and everything to do with the marble slab lying flat in front of the pear tree. _

_ Something primal in Keith rebelled at the sight, a dormant creature wild and awake and aching with the pain of ten thousand years. It fought the otherworldly control on his legs that brought him closer and closer to the marble, a bone-deep fear ingrained so intensely that it almost surprised him. _

_ His feet reached the slab despite himself, never quite touching the immaculate grass, and his head tilted downwards even as his very core screamed in agony and fear. Morning glories wreathed the marble, beautiful but mocking, as he read. _

Prince Myrddin

⊹❇⊹

Here your ashes rest

Though your flame shall never die

Up above, in immortal nest

Where your soul shall forever fly

5402—5733 A.H.

_ The scene changed before the first tear could fall. _

_ Now he was on a rooftop, high on the mountainside, a place for Altean fae to stargaze and divine the future. But he was less interested in the velvet blanket of stars glittering above than the glittering eyes sitting next to him. _

_ Beautiful red-gold eyes flickered with an inner light, soft around the edges but displaying the inner fire for the world to see. They were set in a dark, smooth face, which was framed by silver hair that fell gently to his shoulders. A yellow gemstone hung from his left earlobe, mirroring the violet ones worn by his cousin. _

_ But his most striking feature was his smile, soft and sweet and teasing, and just for Keith. Keith had fallen in love with that smile, and Keith had never really loved before. It scared him, somewhat—but Myrddin had a way of making him less afraid. _

_ The prince took Keith’s hand in his, radiating its constant, comforting warmth. Keith leaned closer, trying to take advantage of Myrddin’s inner fire to take the bite off of the cool night air. “Yeah?” he breathed. _

_ Myrddin smiled warmly—but then, everything about him was warm. So at odds with the cold Galran society Keith had been raised in, Myrddin was everything that Keith’s biological family hadn’t been—kind, caring, open-minded, genuinely curious about the world and everything in it. It was a wide-eyed fascination, how he could go on and on about one kingdom or another, different species of fae and different languages. Myrddin didn’t want power—he was the nephew of the king, he already had it, but would just as soon give it away. He just wanted a greater understanding of the world, and Keith thought that was more beautiful than all the stars in the sky. _

_ “I was just thinking, Keith—one day we should fly away together. Not forever, of course… just so we can finally see the world. On our own terms. Free from our responsibilities and our parents, free from the elaborate game that’s the court. I don’t understand it, and I don’t much care to—Allura is the heir and perfectly suited for it. She’ll be queen one day, mark my words, and Altea will be brighter than ever with her core linked to it. I know you don’t care for the crown, either. We could just… fly away.” _

_ Keith let his eyes slide shut, allowed himself to imagine a future where he and Myrddin wandered kingdoms together, raven and phoenix, flying through the night and dancing through the stars. It could happen—Myrddin was right, he would never be called on to rule Altea. Allura was much too suited to the task—and the crown princess besides—for anyone else to have the job. Maybe one day they  _ could _ fly away and see the far-off lands Myrddin always talked about. _

_ His eyes opened, and he smiled at the bright fondness in the prince’s gaze. “I’d love that,” he replied, voice soft. “And I have something for you. To celebrate two years.” _

_ Myrddin’s grin widened. “It hasn’t been two years yet, Keith. We still have a month to go.” _

_ Keith rolled his eyes good naturedly. “As if we won’t make it. Nah, Flame, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” _

_ “Shadow, you say the sweetest things.” _

_ “It’s why we’ve lasted this long,” Keith replied, smiling. “But seriously—I do have something for you. Close your eyes.” _

_ Myrddin’s dark lids slid obediently close, and Keith pressed a small crystal object into his warm palms. His eyes flickered open and landed on the object—it was a ruby earring of a crimson bird, wings outstretched in flight and beak open in a joyous call. _

_ The phoenix’s eyes went soft as he stared at it, and back up at Keith, before he gently clipped it onto his free ear. “I love it, Keith,” he whispered, golden eyes speaking the words that went unsaid. “I’ll wear it forever.” _

_ Keith grinned softly. “You’d better, Myrddin. With a phoenix, that could actually happen.” _

_ Gray sadness crept in at the edges of Myrddin’s eyes, his mouth still curved into his beautiful smile. “You know I’ll never leave you. Even after you’re gone. I’ll go with you.” _

_ Keith looked up at the stars. “Flame?” _

_ “Yes?” _

_ “When I go, I want you to keep on living. I want you to say goodbye.” _

_ “Shadow—” _

_ “Please, Myrddin? Can you? For me?” _

_ Keith looked back down at the boy next to him to see him smiling sadly, crystal tears lining the corners of his bright eyes. “Alright, Keith. For you, I’ll say goodbye.” _

Keith woke with tears already rolling down his cheeks, onto his chest, into his hands. A deep, overwhelming ache crawled through him, breaking through his carefully constructed defences like acid. It was hard to breathe, he was gasping for breath, choking on his tears and torment.

Over and over, their conversation rang through his head, and he sobbed harder as burning certainty settled over him.

Keith couldn’t breathe, but still he gasped a single word.

_ “Goodbye.” _

* * *

 

The sky was crystal clear, bright stars shedding light onto the dark, quietly rolling waves. Lance knew the water was cold, but through the insulation his seal form had, he didn’t really feel it. He just knew he was swimming again, in the ocean and free and effortlessly gliding through cool water. Every current that rushed past took another one of the thoughts plaguing his mind with it.

_ Adrian— _ washed away, back to shore, where he’d deal with it later.

_ Galra— _ the ocean took it swiftly, turning the dark forms of rocks from menacing figures back to craggy shadows.

_ Keith— _ the uneasy feeling in his chest burned away with the speed he cut through the sea, until there was only the freedom and joy of flying through waves.

It was peaceful, and beautiful, and Lance wished he never had to return to shore and pick up the mantle of his responsibilities again. But he couldn’t leave his family crippled, and he couldn’t leave his friends in danger.

So back to the sand it was.

Lance slid into the shallows, shifting quickly back to human and standing up, ankle deep in cool water. Shifting was painless, effortless, and almost instantaneous—he just concentrated, and suddenly he had limbs and pointed ears instead of a tail and thin fur.

Memories of Keith shifting earlier, from cat to human in an painfully prolonged metamorphosis, threatened to creep back in, but Lance couldn’t bring himself to deal with them. Not with so much else going on. Not in this one moment of peace.

The sound of feet through sand drew Lance’s gaze upwards, where it alighted on a tall, broad, dark figure. He sighed, in both relief and regret, before walking over to the faerie.

“Hey, Hunk,” he murmured, meeting the golem’s kind brown eyes. “What brings you here?”

“I saw you,” replied Hunk, “and I heard what happened. Pidge was wrecked when she found out. She went all over town researching illnesses before she exhausted herself. I had to carry her to your house.” He paused. “Your mama’s worried about you.”

Lance scowled. “Then she needs to get her priorities straight. Warm, loving, talented little sick son? Priority numero uno. Me, her son that basically abandoned her for three days, goes and fetches her some stuff from the forest, and then flees to the ocean to brood? Not even in the top ten.”

Hunk’s eyes softened. “Buddy, no one thinks of you like that. We’re just wondering if you’re alright.”

“Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. My kid brother’s sick and feverish, I’ve been an ass to you all lately, and I feel like an altogether useless faerie! It’s all good!” Lance was shaking now, and Hunk silently reached out to wrap him in strong arms.  _ “It’s fine,” _ he whispered in Hunk’s chest.

The golem held him until his shuddering subsided, and gently let him go, keeping an arm on his shoulder to steady him. Lance already missed Hunk’s warmth.

“It’s not fine, Lance,” Hunk replied, his eyes warm and smile sad. “We all know that. We just want to help.”

“I—I know,” Lance said, feeling defeated. “I just—”

“I’ve seen things,” Hunk said abruptly, cutting Lance off and drilling him with a gaze that seemed equal parts worried and curious. “Vague feelings in dreams. Snippets when I’m scrying. I couldn’t find you, earlier tonight, but I could sense something wrong.”

Lance tensed—had Hunk felt Keith? Did he know about their reluctant partnership? Was he going to tell Allura? From what Keith had told him, that would be the absolute worst thing that could happen.

“I’ve felt some dark things, Lance. I’m not prescient—I’m no seer, and my dream magic is nowhere near my moms’. But whatever you were near earlier, it wasn’t just dark—it was  _ wrong.” _ Hunk shuddered, as if the mere memory of the feeling unsettled him to the point of a physical reaction. “There was something wild about it, like it was at war with itself. Wherever you were, it wasn’t safe. Promise me you won’t go back, Lance.”

The selkie swallowed nervously—the thing in question had to be Keith. But what was wrong with him?  _ In a strictly “is he gonna snap and kill me” way. Not a “I’m slightly worried about his well-being” way. He’s  _ Galra _ after all. The first is much more likely… right? _

He shoved the thought away, closing his eyes and sighing before meeting the other’s concerned gaze. “Of course, Hunk. Thanks for telling me.”

As Hunk embraced him, he uncrossed his fingers.

It wasn’t as simple to get rid of the sick feeling bubbling up in his chest, though.

. . .

When he got back to the cottage, Pidge was waiting for him.

“Hey,” Lance said wearily, under no delusions that he would be able to avoid this confrontation. “Thought you were asleep.”

Pidge nodded in greeting, a green ghostlight dancing around her fingertips. “I woke up,” she replied simply. “Hunk went to talk to you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he talk some sense into your self-deprecating selkie self?”

“How did—”

“C’mon, Lance,” Pidge’s tone was unimpressed. “We’ve been your best friends for years. I  _ live _ with you now. Of course we’re gonna know when something’s up. It doesn’t take a genius to tell something’s wrong… and then Adrian…” She trailed off; Lance could tell the shock hadn’t quite worn off yet. “Well, it makes sense that you’re upset. But again, we know you—you don’t come up to us and ask for help.”

Lance laughed—a short, mirthless chuckle. “I guess I don’t.”

“Damn right.” Pidge paused, eyes following the ghostlight before turning back to Lance. “Y’know, you don’t have to tell us anything. It’s alright if you want to keep secrets.” Her gaze was strong despite the dark rings under her red-rimmed lids. “But can you tell me that whatever’s going on, you’re okay? You don’t have to be good—you just have to be safe.”

Lance breathed out a sigh. This time, he wouldn’t have to cross his fingers. This time, he wouldn’t have to lie to a friend for someone who should be an enemy. “Yeah, Pidge. I’m not in danger.”

Pidge studied him, and he could swear he felt a phantom presence looking even deeper, into his core, before she nodded. “I believe you. Thanks, Lance.”

“You’re welcome, Pidgeon.” He moved to walk past her, through the main room to get to his, when her arm stuck out to stop him. When he looked over at Pidge, her face was drawn and tense, and sad—she hadn’t looked this sad since the accident.

“I couldn’t find anything about Adrian’s sickness. We thought it was just a bad fever, at first. Mrs. McClain—”

“You know she wants you to call her Valentina.”

Pidge smiled at him, small and sorrowful. “It sounds less permanent, this way.”

Lance nodded, eyes dipping down. Sam and Matt Holt’s disappearance had hurt everyone, but the pixie the most—they were the leading experts in core magic research in the entire kingdom, and when they hadn’t come home one day, Pidge had been heartbroken. Left to her own devices, Lance is sure that she would’ve gone to the place where they were last seen and probably gotten herself killed in the process—but his mama had decided to take her in, since the two families were so close.

“Anyway. Your mom fed him the herbs you brought back, and his fever dipped for an hour, and we thought it was finally going to break, but then it rose again, stronger than ever. I’ve tried looking through his core, but it’s resisting me.” Pidge’s eyes were scared, desperate. “I’ve never felt anything like it. Something’s there, something dark. This isn’t a regular sickness.”

“Do you think it’s a…” Lance trailed off. Altea had been a peaceful kingdom for 10,000 years, Allura and Coran’s wisdom guiding them through any possible dark times. One of the first things Allura did as Queen was crack down on shady magic—that meant no dark magic of any kind, no hexes, no curses. Harmless pranks were the only kind of inherently mischievous magic that Allura didn’t root out. Within a thousand years, all dark magic was gone from Altea, and all Galran influence along with it. So it was ridiculous to think that it could’ve resurfaced—except for what Keith said about a Galran resurgence. Could they have—?

Pidge shrugged. “I’m not sure. Dark magic seems unrealistic, and a curse this size would have to be carefully created, but I’m  _ sure _ this isn’t a regular fever.”

“Should we tell Allura? Ask her to search the kingdom for dark magic?” Lance asked, though he suspected he knew where the curse would’ve come from—if there was a curse—and it wasn’t anywhere in Altea.

He needed to talk to Keith.

“Normally, I’d say it was a long shot, but it seems like it might be worth it. She’s a caladrius—maybe she could work her healing magic. If we can pull her away for an hour, it couldn’t hurt.”

Lance nodded. “Does she know about Adrian yet?”

“None of us have been to the palace yet,” Pidge replied, shaking her head. “It’s possible Coran might scry us, though. He’s started practicing more to see if he has any tips he can share with Hunk.”

“Alright…” Lance paused, dying to ask a question and terrified to hear the answer. “Pidge, how bad is he? Can I go see him?”

Her eyes closed, and the ghostlight flared brighter before she regained control of her emotions and huffed out a sigh. “It’s… it’s not good. He looks  _ really _ bad, and he’s probably not awake. I was watching him until I came out to talk to you. We don’t think it’s contagious, though, so yeah. You should go in.”

“I will.” As Lance passed by the ghostlight, it pulsed weakly blue. “Thanks, Pidge. For all you’ve been doing.”

The pixie smiled sadly, wings gently fluttering behind her. “I just hope I find something.”

“I do too,” Lance murmured, staring down at the wooden door knob in his hand. “I really do.”

A moment went by, and then he entered the room.

It was empty except for the boy lying still on the couch and the ghostlights floating through the air, and dim. The lights that were floating further away from Adrian were muted yellow, their natural color when not affected by an exterior source of magic or emotion, but the ones close to him were dark purple.

Lance swallowed harshly. Earlier, ghostlights hadn’t been reacting like that. He was getting worse, and it was affecting his magic.

He walked slowly over to the couch, trying to move as silently as possible to avoid waking Adrian—but he couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath when he finally got a good look at his sick brother.

The first thing that struck Lance was how pale he was—his skin was darker than Lance’s but lighter than Hunk’s, and always glowing in spite of puberty. Lance had been jealous of his skin for years, but not now—now it was waxy, flushed, sweaty. It looked like the skin of someone being broiled from the inside, someone in intense pain.

The second thing that hit him was his expression: pinched and drawn, with lines above his eyes that didn’t belong there and a slightly parted mouth, seeming to pant slightly even in the cool air.

And then Adrian’s eyes slowly slid open, and Lance could see a faint flicker of surprise in them.

Out of everything he had seen, that was the most heartbreaking.

“Lance,” his brother croaked. “Where—”

“Shh, shh…” Lance murmured, reaching for the rag on the table and magically pulling water out of the air to saturate it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. But I’m here now.”

“How ba—ad am I? Lance?” The painstaking, halted way his words came out tore into Lance’s heart, but still he maintained the calm mask he had pasted on. “Ma—má… won’t tell me…”

For a brief second, Lance considered looking into those glassy teal eyes and lying. 

And then he felt sick with himself, because he and Adrian had never been anything less than brutally candid with each other, and it would be cruel to lie now—even to ease Adrian’s mind. Especially because Adrian was smart enough and attuned to his own magic enough to know that he might not be alright.

Lance sighed. “It’s much worse than bad. You already knew that, though. I’m guessing as soon as Pidge came in and started searching your core, you realized. We—ah, Pidge and I—we don’t think it’s a normal sickness.” He paused, looking down at his brother, who was nodding shallowly. “I think it’s a curse, but I don’t know who the caster is, nor its purpose. I’m not even positive it’s magic… but I know someone who might be able to give me a little insight.”

Keith. Assuming Keith hadn’t holed up under a rock for the past three years, he would probably know who could be performing dark magic in Daibazaal. And that meant that Lance would have to go back and find him much sooner than he’d been planning.

He wasn’t altogether opposed to that, much to his chagrin.

But it didn’t really matter how he felt about Keith, reluctant partner or rival or enemy, because he would do anything so that the boy lying prone on the couch would be alright.

“So, yeah… it’s not good. Not good at all. You could—honestly, you could—” Lance choked on the words, a single tear squeezing through lids he didn’t remember closing. He forced himself to open them and focus his shaky gaze on Adrian, who, despite the glassiness of his eyes, was staring back up at him with a strength in his gaze that made Lance so, so proud. “I’m going to do everything I can, Adrian. That’s a promise.”

Adrian nodded slowly, and Lance could see the tears glistening in his eyes. “I—I know. I… love you, La—ance.”

Lance smiled softly, even though it felt like his chest was cracking open like porcelain, jagged shards ripping into parts he hadn’t known existed until they had started to burn.

“I know, little brother. I love you too.”

A smile ghosted across Adrian’s pained face before his eyes slid closed, and he drifted off into troubled sleep.

Lance’s fingers gently danced through his brother’s dark hair as he finally let the tears fall, hot and shining as they dripped off his chin.

He didn’t leave his brother’s side until the sun rose over sparkling sand, and his mother with it.

When he was sure Adrian was in good hands, he left for the forest, satchel slung over his shoulder.

He had a Galra to find.

* * *

 

Keith slipped out of the cave at sunrise, tired of trying and failing to fall back asleep. Ever since his dream—nightmare—memory, he’d been off balance and shaky, unable to rest but unable to shift and escape the suffocating cavern.

Eventually he managed to change into his rabbit form and slip through the hole out into the refreshing morning air, but even that didn’t set his nerves on ease. It all seemed…  _ wrong,  _ somehow. Like nothing could ever be right after his dream, after… Myrddin’s death.

Another raw ball of hot emotion lodged itself in Keith’s throat. Yeah, that was it.

Myrddin’s death  _ was _ wrong. It shouldn't have happened. They were supposed to have hundreds of years together before Keith finally passed away quietly, and Myrddin would have lived on with their family, exploring the world he loved so much.

He was a  _ phoenix.  _ Phoenixes weren’t supposed to die.

So how had he?

Keith shook his head and roughly pulled himself into a transformation—a horse, but it didn’t matter so long as the tugging of his magic distracted him. Sometimes it was harder to concentrate in animal form; at the very least, faerie concepts became slightly more abstract and foreign, less grounded. They were still there, but foggier, things that weren’t quite translated from faerie to animal. Things like hate, morality, cruelty, compassion. Things like love.

Yeah, Keith could do to get away from love for a little while. If he never met another faerie he cared for, everyone concerned would probably end up a lot happier.

He took off racing through the forest at a pace that would probably break any other horse’s neck on an unexpected branch, the wind whipping across his face and through his mane sharp and invigorating. Out of all of his forms, his favorites were definitely the horse, cat, and raven—largely for speed and agility reasons. The horse was by far the best to clear his mind, because he could move faster and run longer than any of the others.

And Keith had always used physical exertion to cool off, even before the war. Myrddin hadn’t enjoyed training, he’d always prefered his imagination and maps and books to fighting, but his cousin Allura— _ The Queen, now… I always knew she would be _ —had been an exceptional sparring partner. The three of them had spent many a day out on the field, Keith and Allura training as Myrddin egged them on from his perch in a tree, frequently eating lunch together before Allura would leave and Keith and Myrddin would get to have time to themselves.

Keith let out a disgruntled whinney, shaking his head as he trotted to a stop. He needed to get a hold of himself—he didn’t know what was wrong with him, but everything felt like it was made out of thin glass. Like every thought, every movement, had the potential to shatter him into pieces, or for him to shatter something else.

Everything had a heightened feeling of wrongness, prickling against Keith’s skin and going as deep as his core. Something wasn’t right, and it felt like more than just his residual mourning—there was something off with the forest.

His ears flicked up, listening, when it struck him—it was too quiet. Much too quiet.

Keith had just enough time to shift into goblin form before something launched itself out of the brush, growling and dark. Thick horns rammed into his side as claws dug into his skin, dagger-like teeth nipping at him before he managed to twist away, kicking with his strong hind legs. He skittered away, sides heaving as he got a good look at his opponent.

The other púca had golden-yellow eyes and a snout curled into a snarl, goat horns gleaming and sharp, deadly strong claws and hooves capping legs rippling with smooth muscle. For a second, Keith let his vision drift into the púca’s core—it was Galra, obviously, dark and corrupted and hard, with magic like a stone wall. Even if Keith  _ could _ tinker with core magic, this Galra’s core was unyielding.

It was also extremely familiar.

_ Haxus,  _ Keith growled in the Galran tongue, the only language he could speak in goblin form.  _ Did Haggar send you? _

The Galra grated out a laugh, a sound like metal scraping a chalkboard, harsh and unnatural.  _ As if I deal with the witch. _

_ That could be considered treason, Haxus,  _ Keith taunted.  _ I’d watch your step. _

_ Says the traitor,  _ Haxus replied.  _ You no longer have a say in Daibazaal. _

Keith spat.  _ Like I’d want one. I never have. _

_ Another thing unbecoming to a Galra—no lust for power. No ambition whatsoever. You are a disappointment to the Empire. _

_ Better that than a weak-kneed, whimpering coward who grovels at the feet of the powerful. _

The Galra’s eyes flared bright as they narrowed. Keith tensed—the fight was about to start, and Haxus actually had functioning magic.  _ You’ll regret that, once Sendak has his claws around you. By the time you get to the witch, you might no longer have a core for her to probe through. _

_ She’ll take me again over my dead body,  _ Keith snarled, anger and fear making his fur stand on end.

Haxus’s mouth curved into a twisted smile.  _ How convenient for me, then. _

He was so fast that Keith barely had enough time to twist out of the way, lashing his tail out to keep his balance only for it to be snatched in Haxus’s teeth. They burned as they ripped through the delicate skin, keeping Keith pinned as the Galra dug his claws into his hind leg. Keith thrashed, kicking wildly with his free hoof until a pained yelp and sudden release told him he had connected. He jumped away, raking his claws through Haxus’s side, leaving long, thin lines of blood wherever they skated. His powerful back legs pummelled the side of the Galra, and just as he went into bite the other’s neck, bright fire and harsh noise rocked his world and sent him flying backwards, landing roughly at the base of a tree.

Keith tried to get his bearings from the explosion— _ That’s right, Haxus has incendiary magic _ —when a sharp pain pierced through his hind leg, pinning him against the floor. Haxus leered above him, mouth wide in a triumphant snarl, teeth bared and about to go for the kill.

Despite himself, a small smile crept onto Keith’s face. He wasn’t sure if he believed in an afterlife, but maybe there was one, where Myrddin and everyone he’d lost was waiting for him.

Tan skin and deep blue eyes flashed through his mind, followed by warm amber eyes and horns poking through shaggy hair, and then a shock of white in close-cropped black. Wavy silver hair and violet crystals, and a bright orange mustache.

Maybe there was another life, but there were still fae he had to save in this one.

Keith raised a shaking claw, knowing it was futile but determined to go out fighting, waiting for the moment to strike.

The Galra’s eyes flashed crimson as he lunged forward, teeth sharp and gleaming. Keith flung a claw out, raking it across his exposed neck, preparing for the final burst of pain and overwhelming darkness—

And then Haxus let out a feral, haunting wail and slumped over, blood dripping from where a silver knife sprouted.

Keith stared at the blade in shock as a faerie suddenly bounded into his line of sight.

“Oh my God,” Lance gasped. “Oh my God. Keith? Are you alright?” The selkie grabbed his knife and sheathed it before shoving Haxus’s body aside. He reached for Keith’s head, but his hand halted before it touched him, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing. His eyes remained firmly fixed on Keith, though, as if he was actively trying to keep his gaze from shifting to the corpse lying off to the side.

Keith let his head drift into Lance’s cool palm as his chest heaved, mind slowly catching up with his body. He now felt all the injuries adrenaline had concealed, and they burned. His magic lay tame, for now, but Keith knew that if he waited any longer to shift he probably wouldn’t manage it until he was healed.

He took a deep breath and, leaning into Lance’s touch, changed back to faerie.

Blackness tugged at the edges of his vision, and he felt himself very close to slipping into the comforting darkness. But pain pulled at him, pulsed through him, tethering him to the world, bringing his gaze back into focus.

“Lance?” Keith croaked. “How—”

“Shh…” the other faerie whispered, his eyes wide and worried. “Don’t talk. God, Keith, who was that? He really ripped into you.”

“Haxus—”

“Ah, never mind, don’t answer me yet. We need to get you fixed up, alright? I think I have something in here—” He started digging through his satchel, and Keith’s eyes started to drift closed, but then there was a smooth hand gently slapping his cheek. “No, buddy, you gotta stay with me, alright? Just—listen to—my voice—”

“Here we go, I knew I had some of that root in here—” Something earthy was gently being pushed into his mouth. “I need you to eat this, Keith. It’ll numb you to the pain, because this is gonna hurt.”

Keith obediently swallowed, and the world did seem to fade slightly. His wounds didn’t seem to throb as much, but he was still conscious. Still alive, if just barely. Only because of Lance.

Keith was almost glad he couldn’t manage to speak, because he didn’t know what the hell he’d say.

The selkie grabbed his knife and carefully cut away at Keith’s tight jeans where they were soaked dark red, revealing a blood-crusted puncture wound that made Lance wince in sympathy.

Lance scooted closer, gently moving Keith’s arms to lie at his side so he could unzip the jacket and pull it off, and his shirt after it. Keith suspected that the motion should have hurt, but the numbing root seemed to be doing its job well.

Lance hissed in surprise, and Keith glanced down at himself. There were several deep cuts along his side, and his lower back was throbbing even through the sedative.

“That’s not good, Keith. And—crap—is that a burn?” Smooth hands were sliding against his face, tilting his head so Lance could examine him closer. A finger brushed a raw patch of skin and Keith bit his tongue. “Holy hell, how did you get this burned? Don’t answer that.”

Lance gently released his head, sitting back. “I think I can fix you up, but it might take a little while, and then we’re gonna have a talk.” The selkie glared at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “A talk about landing ourselves in unnecessary peril, for starters.”

Keith would’ve laughed if he had that much control over his body.

“Okay—there’s the scabious, I’ve got to use that to treat the cuts—” Lance was muttering to himself now, rooting through his satchel as he lay flowers and herbs on the ground, and Keith found his steady voice soothing. “Now where is that—oh, good, there it is—”

Those piercing blue eyes turned to Keith once again. “You hanging in there, buddy? I’ve almost got everything, you’ve just got to last a little bit longer…” He waved a hand, his eyes flashing the intense blue of his core, and water coalesced around a bushel of pink flowers he had lying on the ground. He turned back to his bag, but the bubble of water around the flowers continued floating through the air.

As Keith watched, the color slowly seeped from the flowers into the water, until it was tinged pink. He had a faint idea that it should’ve taken much longer for the flower to steep in the water, but Lance clearly had some training in healing magic. Who knew what was strictly possible, when it came to fae?

“Damn, I really wish I could take you to Allura, she’d have you fixed in a minute—”

Keith jolted, eyes flying wide despite the numbing agent slowing his thoughts.

Lance chuckled softly, placing a hand on Keith’s leg to steady him. “Hold your horses, púca boy. I’m not taking you into Altea.”

Keith felt his muscles relax again, eyelids fluttering halfway shut over his eyes as he watched Lance work. There was something calming in Lance’s smooth movements, methodical as he chopped up roots and flowers and brewed them in orbs of water, his brow furrowing slightly as he called small flickers of flame into existence.

Slowly but surely, Lance’s work came to a close as he began to soak rags—did he tear his own clothing for those?—in his various bubbles of water and wrap them around Keith’s injuries. First his leg, then his side, then his back, and then the selkie dabbed a rag smeared with some herbal-smelling paste against all the visible burns.

Finally, what felt like hours later, Lance sat back and wiped his brow. Keith was barely hanging onto consciousness, but he could feel that whatever magic Lance had used was working. He didn’t hurt nearly as bad as before, and drifting into the dark arms of sleep no longer felt like a gamble.

“Thank you,” he managed to murmur through the haze of his thoughts, his eyelids drooping low.

Lance smiled—it was bone-weary, and still carried the dredges of worry, but it was a genuine smile that lit a spark behind his sea blue eyes. “No problem, Mullet.”

Before Keith could question the remark, his eyes slipped closed and he slid off into dreamless sleep.

The last thing he saw was a soft smile resting below ocean-deep eyes.

* * *

 

Lance had come into the forest to try and find Keith, to get information about a possible Galran curse on his brother.

He had  _ not _ expected to save Keith’s furry rear, kill a Galra, and then have to perform loads of strenuous healing magic, way more than he was used to.

Healing magic wasn’t his forte—that was reserved for other members of his family—but he was raised on it. Added to the fact that he had a mild affinity for water magic, he could hold his own in healing, though he’d never done much more than mend a broken bone.

Healing Keith? It had been like bringing a butchered piece of meat back to life. Bloody, difficult, and nearly impossible.

After the púca had drifted off, a small smile on his lips despite the incredible pain he must’ve been in, Lance wanted nothing more than to fall asleep with him—but he couldn’t leave them both undefended in a forest where Galra were clearly stalking.

Galra… like the one Lance had killed.

The selkie swallowed hoarsely before finally turning to look at the still form he had pushed off to the side when Keith’s injuries presented more pressing matters than Lance’s own looming conscience.

Now his conscience was back full force, and Lance felt sick. Did he regret killing the Galra? No—he hadn’t had enough time to come up with any better option. If he hadn’t acted immediately, Keith would’ve died, and Lance would trade any hostile Galra’s life for Keith’s over and over again.

Some distant corner of his mind registered the abrupt turnaround in his own impression of the púca boy, from enemy to reluctant ally to something close to a friend, but that wasn’t the most pressing concern right now.

The most pressing concern was that Lance was able to whip a knife into another faerie’s neck with no hesitation, and not feel any remorse for its passing. The death shriek it had wailed had seared itself into Lance’s brain, but Lance still couldn’t bring himself to feel anything about its death.

He only felt guilty that he didn’t feel any remorse, and he felt disgusted with himself for the coldness he must possess to be able to end another life as easily as he had.

What would his friends and family think of him now? Not that he’d tell them—that would’ve involved mentioning Keith, and the Galran presence, both things he’d promised not to do. But just the fact that he was no longer clean, no longer innocent, no longer  _ Lance _ made him sick to his stomach.

He had  _ killed _ a faerie in cold blood, and he had to go back to everyone and pretend nothing had happened. He would have to receive their love and acceptance even though he knew that he didn’t deserve it, that they wouldn’t give it to a killer.

Something in Lance’s gut tugged violently, and then he was doubled over, heaving bile up onto the forest floor. Tears that he hadn’t known formed began to fall as he retched, mixing with the viscous liquid collected on the ground. He was choking, gasping, sobbing—he was losing it, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get it back together.

Slowly, the tears began to ebb and his stomach stopped rebelling against him, and air flowed more easily through his lungs. The anguish he felt hadn’t gone, but it had escaped for the moment—and as Keith began to stir, Lance quickly collected himself, using the last dregs of his magic to collect up the tears and bile and fling them deep into the forest.

The púca’s indigo eyes fluttered open, a small smile that seemed involuntary curving his mouth up. “Lance?”

“Hey, púca,” Lance replied, scooting closer to Keith and further away from the corpse of the Galra. “Feeling better?”

“Much.” Keith’s eyes darted over to the Galra before returning to Lance. “Thanks. For, y’know, saving me. Twice.”

“My pleasure, Mullet. I didn’t have anything better to do today than save your sorry ass, after all.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m sure. You were just wandering the forest waiting for some random woodland animal to rescue?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m a regular saint.”

The púca snorted, which was unfairly not-repulsive. “Yeah. Okay, but what did you really want to find me for?”

_ “Oh-oh-oh-oh-no,” _ Lance cried. “You’re  _ not _ getting away that easily.”

Keith had the audacity to look confused, cocking his head in a way that made him look like a lost puppy. “What?”

“I said that we were having a talk about you getting yourself in situations where you get injured.”

The púca groaned. “Oh, Lord, you sound like Ma—er, Shiro.”

Once again, Lance chose to ignore the slip, though he was curious who these fae were that Keith wouldn’t talk about. It sounded like someone different, this time, though he couldn’t be sure. “Shiro sounds like a smart dude, then, because even  _ I _ can tell that you put yourself in way too many dangerous situations.”

“Dangerous situations just find me,” Keith protested.  _ “I  _ didn’t ask to be nearly gutted by Haxus.  _ I  _ didn’t ask to be skewered with a knife that gave me third-degree burns.  _ I  _ didn’t ask for a raccoon to land on my head when I was in the middle of shifting. None of this is  _ my  _ fault.”

Lance huffed out a surprised laugh. “I wanna hear the raccoon story sometime, but all that—including the subtle accusation—aside, you still manage to find yourself in these situations. Maybe you should learn some healing magic or something.”

Keith scowled. “No magic. I can manage simple tinctures, but that’s it. Healing magic… it never came easily to me.”

The selkie shrugged in reply. “Fair enough. Lots of things don’t come easy to me either. But you’ve gotta have  _ something _ to keep you safe—uh, saf _ er.” _

“I know how to fight,” Keith offered. “And I have a little fire magic.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” Lance replied sarcastically. “Whatever ninja-like talents you might possess, I don’t think it’s quite enough, given that you just got your butt handed to you.”

Keith’s ears were bright red, his voice indignant as he yelped, “Hey! He caught me by surprise, is all! Just because I don’t have some fancy metal deathblade, doesn’t mean—”

A thought popped into Lance’s head; past him would’ve slapped himself for it, because it did seem pretty ridiculous, but current him was seriously considering it. 

Decision made, he reached up and clapped a hand over Keith’s mouth, effectively stopping his retort, and said “Wait, Keith—I’ve got an idea. Close your eyes, and hold out your hands.”

The ruffled outrage in Keith’s eyes retreated, replaced by confusion. Lance just removed his hand, motioning to hurry up, before reaching into his satchel.

Keith’s eyes finally slid shut, brow slightly furrowed, as he held out his less-injured arm. Lance grinned and placed the hilt of his knife in the púca’s palm. “I, Lance McClain, selkie of Altea, give this neato blade to you, Keith Lastname, polka of Daibazaal, to keep you from getting yourself killed in the future.”

Keith’s eyebrows raised as his eyes opened, mouth parted to reply, but then his gaze fell on the knife and his skeptical look dropped, replaced with pure wonder. He raised the knife closer, examining it with wide eyes.

Lance noticed that the strange transformation Keith’s appearance had gone through last time didn’t occur—the only difference being that it was no longer negating Keith’s magic, but feeding it. Which meant it must be some sort of magic-based glamour, hiding Keith’s real looks from the world.

But why?

Keith’s speech pulled his wandering thoughts back, his voice tinged with disbelief and awe. “Are you really giving this to me?”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance replied. “If having a metal blade’ll keep you from dying, then it’s a small price to pay.”

The púca looked at him with shining eyes, a smile small but so genuine it made something in Lance ache. “But it’s Olkarion. Super rare, super valuable. And you’re just… giving it away?”

The obvious question went unspoken, but Lance heard it clearly: you’re giving it away to a Galra? Your sworn enemy?

And Lance had next to no idea why, but he was. And something deep within him was positive it was the right decision.

Lance shrugged. “I only ever use it to cut up plants and stuff; today was the most use I’ve gotten out of it in all the years I’ve owned it. I have a hunch you’ll need it more than I will.”

“I… Thanks, Lance,” Keith replied with violet eyes warmer than Lance had ever seen them. “That—that’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve been given in 10,000 years.”

Lance smiled sadly. “I guess I didn’t have much competition, eh? You’re welcome, Mullet.”

There was a quiet, content pause as Keith looked over his new knife again—but then his head shot up, brow furrowed.

“What’s with the ‘Mullet’?”

Lance stared before bursting into laughter. “It’s your hairstyle,” he replied, reaching over and flicking Keith’s bangs. The púca flinched back, scowling.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“Nothing, it’s great—except it’s a mullet. That fad is like, what, 200 years old?”

Keith stared at him dryly. “Lance. I’m from 10,000 years in the past.”

Lance’s eyes widened— _ That might’ve been a little insensitive _ —before the púca started laughing.

“Nah, it’s totally fine. I forget you weren’t even a conception’s conception back then, too. You’re just a baby.” Keith’s mouth was curved into a smirk, eyes laughing, as he teased Lance—and somewhere in that expression, the selkie lost his indignant anger.

“Screw you, Keith,” Lance muttered, gaze falling to the ground.

There was a pause as Keith shifted, sitting up a little bit more, but then he piped back up. “No, but really—what’s with ‘Mullet’? Why not just Keith?”

“Oh,” Lance chirped, looking back up, “I’m trying out nicknames!”

The púca cocked his head. “Nicknames?”

“Yeah, all my friends have nicknames. Pidge is Pidgeon, Hunk is The Rock, Allura is Space Queen, and Coran is the Coranic—“

Keith abruptly burst into laughter, shoulders shaking as the sounds of his mirth pealed through the forest like bells. “No,” he gasped, “he’s still having fae call him that?”

Lance broke into a wide grin. “You’re saying this wasn’t a recent development?”

“It’s 10,000 years old, more like,” Keith replied, still chuckling. “Just as old as that mustache of his.”

“I’ve got a hunch that he was born with the mustache.”

“Oh, he was,” Keith replied, grinning. “I’ve seen the baby portraits.”

Lance stared in delighted shock, mouth hanging partway open. “No—you’re joking.”

“Dead serious.”

“That’s the most Coran thing I’ve ever heard,” Lance gasped through sudden laughter. “Thank you for this, man.”

Keith looked slightly bewildered as he replied, “Uh, no problem.”

Lance managed to calm himself down and continue the conversation, albeit with the ghost of mirth tickling his mouth into a smile. “Alright, back to the nickname dilemma. You need a good nickname, something better than púca boy.”

“How about ‘Keith’?” Keith replied dryly. “Seriously, Lance, I don’t need a nickname.”

“Ah, nope, you do—like I said, all my friends have nicknames. Just ‘cause none of my other friends know you doesn’t mean you get to be the exception.”

“‘Friends’?” Keith questioned, a peculiar quirk to his mouth, something in his eyes that Lance couldn’t name. “When did that happen?”

“Uh, when I heroically saved your life and you were all ‘oh, Lance, I owe you my life, you dashing hero you,’ and I was like ‘ah, no need to repay me,’ and you were like ‘you’re too good for me, Lance,’” Lance replied, grinning. “Y’know, everlasting gratitude tends to forge friendships.”

Keith fixed him with a level stare, looking thoroughly unimpressed at Lance’s storytelling. “I may have been half-delirious with pain and whatever that root was, but I know a hundred percent I never said that.”

“Aww,” Lance said, unable to even pretend he was disappointed. “What part gave me away?”

“‘Dashing hero’,” Keith answered, perfectly deadpan. “Never in a million years would I be out of it enough to call you dashing.”

“Ah, well, Mullet—”

“If you end up nicknaming me Mullet, I think this friendship is over.”

“Oh!” Lance exclaimed, choosing to not take offence in how Keith winced in apprehension. “If you give  _ me _ an awful nickname—though Mullet is really just stating the facts—we’ll be even.”

Keith sighed, but Lance could see the corner of his mouth trying to twitch up. “Alright. How about—” His gaze drifted over Lance, as if looking him over for a good physical characteristic to make fun of. “Sharpshooter.”

Lance choked on his spit. “Keith—buddy, that’s not awful—that’s actually kinda badass—” He hoped his face didn’t look as red as it felt, but from Keith’s raised eyebrows and amused smirk he suspected that it was.

“Yeah, well, you kind of  _ are _ a badass sharpshooter with that knife,” Keith replied, shrugging, as if he hadn’t managed to just reduce Lance into a gibbering mess.

Which, Lance reflected, probably shouldn’t have been quite so easy.

The selkie managed to regain control of his speech. “It’s not quite ‘dashing’, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’d better. ‘Sharpshooter’ is a hell of a lot nicer than ‘Mullet’.”

Lance coughed. “Maybe I’ll work on your nickname.”

Keith smiled warmly, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “Thanks, Sharpshooter.”

Looking at that smile, Lance vowed to come up with a much more fitting nickname than Mullet.

* * *

 

Matt, predictably, was not impressed when Keith shifted back and had a hundred bandages wrapped around him. Nor was he impressed when he learned that it did indeed have to do with Lance.

But he was pretty impressed—and absolutely shocked—when he heard the story behind it.

“You’re telling me Haxus attacked you? Sendak’s crony? How did he even find you? We haven’t seen any Galra around this part of the forest in ages.”

Keith sighed, leaning back against the rock wall. “I have no idea. He seemed… stronger? Or maybe I just need more practice, because I was nearly dead.”

“And Lance saved you?” Matt asked, eyebrows raising. “He never really seemed like the type who could skewer a vicious Galra through the neck, but I never really pegged myself as the type whose only friend was a member of an evil enemy species.” There was a pause, supposedly as Matt reflected on his life decisions that led him to this spot, and then the satyr bolted straight up. “Wait—what form were you in? Goblin?”

Keith nodded, and Matt frowned. “How would he have known that he was targeting the correct Galra? You would’ve both been goblins, identical to anyone who hadn’t seen many púca before.”

Keith’s eyes widened—he hadn’t thought of that, between nearly dying and the high of relief that came from surviving. “He seemed so sure, though—even  _ before _ I shifted back, he ran up to me and was like ‘Keith, are you alright? Keith?’ It was so natural I didn’t even notice it.”

“I think there’s a lot more to that selkie than either of us thought,” Matt said, and Keith couldn’t resist the small smile that crept onto his face.

_ That,  _ he thought,  _ is one thing I can agree with. _

“This Lance, though,” Matt said, a sly grin on his face with narrowed eyes that made Keith more nervous than hostile Galra did. “He saved your life, spent what must’ve been hours healing you, and wasn’t immediately scared away by your ‘don’t touch me don’t talk to me don’t exist around me’ face.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Keith grumbled, scowling.

Matt grinned wider. “Your expression right now begs to differ. Anyway, what I’m getting at is—”

“I know what you’re getting at,” Keith interrupted, arms firmly crossed in front of his chest. “I’m not four. Just ‘cause a guy doesn’t let me get killed and gives me a knife doesn’t mean—”

The satyr’s eyes gleamed brighter, and Keith winced. “A knife? What knife?”

The púca scowled before pulling the blade out of his sheath, brandishing it at Matt. “Olkarion. It’s made so it won’t drain the magic of the owner. Metal, too.”

Matt looked from him to the dagger with wide eyes. “Holy crap, Keith—Olkarion? Anything from there is  _ way _ valuable. And you say Lance just… gave it to you?”

Keith turned his gaze to the simple knife, lightly tracing the plain wooden hilt with his fingers, smiling to himself as he replied. “Yeah… I said the same thing, that it was too valuable to give away, but he wouldn’t listen to any of my protests. Said that I get myself almost killed too often to not have a weapon.”

Matt huffed a laugh. “Well, that  _ is _ true.” He paused, before continuing. “But Lance—he’s pretty good-looking, right? Not my type, of course—but maybe yours?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Keith groaned, pushing his head into his hands. “Just saying, Keith.”

“He’s  _ objectively _ okay,” Keith grumbled into his palms. “And also a pretty good guy, for, y’know, someone who’s that  _ annoying.  _ But he’s also Altean, and what Altean with any sense would have anything to do with a Galra—at least in this time period?”

Matt smiled fondly. “Y’know, I never knew Lance to have much sense regarding stuff like this. He’s all heart—less impulsive than you when it comes to physical things, but much more instinctive when it comes to emotional stuff.”

“Well, that’s all well and good, if it _mattered,_ which it doesn’t, because we’re both unlikely companions and that’s _it.”_ Keith met Matt’s skeptically amused gaze, expression deadly serious. “But I actually have something I need to ask you about—and _it’s_ _not relationship advice,_ get a grip.”

The satyr’s grin faded, and he nodded. “Alright, shoot.”

“I know this is a sensitive topic, so you don’t have to answer, but—what happened to you in that Galra facility?”

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed and his brow furrowed, and Keith could see his breath hitch in his chest. Several seconds passed and Keith thought that maybe the satyr wasn’t going to be able to answer, when his eyes slowly opened and he began to speak. Tentatively, slowly, like he feared the words would shatter something—but he spoke.

“I—I don’t really know, for sure. After I was captured, I was held in a cell for what felt like years. I learned all about the Galra from a cellmate—one day, he got taken out and he never returned. That’s kinda when I realized how screwed I was, because that faerie was a genius with core magic, and if they could afford to kill him, what was stopping them from killing me next?

“A few days after he died, I got taken into a chamber and strapped down to a hard slab. They asked me some questions about my research? I really don’t remember, what happened before the torture is all a blur. I only—I only remember the next part. Some faerie in a cloak, I couldn’t see their face, they had—lightning, dark lightning, and it was all pulled to my chest, and it burned where it entered.”

Matt was shaking, now, shivering like a dying leaf in a strong breeze. Keith silently motioned him over, and he sat down next to the púca, still quivering, still talking. Keith wrapped an arm around his shoulder and drew him closer as he continued.

“And they seemed… angry. Not pleased with whatever was happening, so they didn’t stop. It went on for what seemed like weeks—trying to sleep in the frigid cell, being woken up with some rock hard protein bar thrown at my face, being strapped to the slab and tortured, being tossed into the cell like a rag doll, repeat—until you found me in my prison and broke me out. So, yeah,” Matt said, flashing a shaky smile at Keith that only held for a second before his face fell again. “Thank you for getting me out of there. I told you that before, but I never really told you how much it meant.”

Keith squeezed his shoulder gently. “I could guess, a little bit. I lived with those demons for sixteen years—but yeah, I’m glad I found you in time.” He sighed, taking a slow breath. “Do you want to hear what I know about your imprisonment?”

The satyr nodded silently, staring down at the ground.

“The one who tortured you, with the lightning—she’s Haggar. She used to be Honerva of Daibazaal, mate of Emperor Zarkon, a storm nymph with a strong affinity for core magic. She bore him two sons, and was incredibly loyal to the Galran Kingdom—which was good for Zarkon, because she was powerful enough that she could’ve easily overthrown him had she wanted the throne.

“Her prowess with core magic was only matched by her cruelty, which knew no bounds. She experimented with it so much, went so far, tested so many limits, that the theory is she managed to corrupt Daibazaal’s very core. Galra weren’t evil, until she took control. That’s when the war started.

“Some were spared from the mental effects of the corruption—though they were still Galra, their minds didn’t turn, and they remained sane. They became the Pride of Marmora, dedicated to fighting against Haggar’s corruption and reclaiming the core. It’s unlikely Daibazaal’s core could ever be purified—it would take an extreme act of magic to undo Haggar’s wrongs—so the Alteans of the past just tried to destroy it.

“And they succeeded—the Galran Kingdom’s core did fail. But instead of the core failing and all corrupted Galra dying, Haggar absorbed the remaining magic within Daibazaal, effectively becoming the most powerful faerie that ever existed. She put the entire kingdom to sleep, except herself, and cultivated and nurtured her core magic for 10,000 years. She only now woke us all up, presumably because an evil scheme of hers has finally come to fruition.” Keith took a shaky breath, and Matt gently rubbed his shoulder, silently urging him to go on.

“This afternoon, after everything went down, Lance told me about his kid brother. His name is Adrian, and apparently, he very recently got extremely sick.”

Matt let out a soft gasp beside him, and Keith nodded.

“Yeah, he came down with a fever, and despite his mom’s aptitude for healing magic, nothing’s working. So Lance—and apparently, your sister, Pidge—thought that it might be…”

“…a curse,” Matt finished, eyes wide. “He thinks that there might be a Galran curse placed on Adrian.”

“And the worst part is, I think he might be right.” Keith’s voice was slow and sad, his eyes downcast.

He had hardly wanted to believe it when Lance had talked to him about it earlier—it sounded like something out of a twisted nightmare.

Because Keith  _ knew _ Haggar was up to something. He  _ knew _ that she was going to have some twisted plot to get revenge on Altea.

But he could’ve never imagined placing curses on  _ children,  _ of all fae. That seemed despicable, even for Haggar.

“So, what I’m asking is, do you have any idea what Haggar experimented on you? Because I suspect that’s our only lead—if I know Haggar, she was testing out an early version of this curse.” Keith looked over at Matt, whose gaze was equal parts regretful and haunted.

The satyr shook his head. “I—I’m sorry, Keith. I don’t remember anything, except for black lightning.” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “But now you know why I don’t want anyone to know about me.”

Keith tilted his head, confused. “Hmm?”

“Because the Galra experimented on me. I can’t be safe. There’s got to be something—some bug, some switch,  _ something— _ that Haggar planted in me. I couldn’t trust myself back in Altea, back with—with my family. I’d be constantly afraid I’d wake up one day with no memories of how I got there, blood on my hands and horns and my family’s corpses lying in front of me.” Matt shuddered, blinking rapidly and shrinking further into himself. “I’ve got to stay away, for everyone’s sake, and if Pidge learned about me out here—well, she wouldn’t  _ let _ me stay away.” The satyr let out a small chuckle, but it quickly turned into a gasp and then a sob, and then he was crying into Keith’s shoulder.

“God, Keith—I love her so much. She’s so incredible,” he wheezed, struggling for air. “It’s k—killing me to stay away, but I could h—hurt her if I went back. I know she’s safe in Altea, for now, and that—that has to be good enough.”

Keith rubbed circles into Matt’s back, clutching him close despite his own injuries. “Shh…” he murmured. “Shh, it’ll be alright, just breathe.”

Eventually, Matt’s shaking shoulders stilled and he stopped heaving for breath, and he wiped at his tears, cracking a shaky smile. “Thanks, Keith. I’ll, uh—I need to go out for a walk.”

Keith nodded and tried to return Matt’s smile. “Yeah, okay. I’ll wait for you.”

The satyr slowly regained his feet and walked over to the cave wall, where he tapped out a sequence on the rocks and the stones parted like a curtain. He ducked through, still sniffling quietly, and waved. “See you, Keith,” he called softly, and closed the wall behind him.

Keith stared at the spot where Matt had been. “Be careful,” he whispered. “Please, Matt, be careful.”

The púca wasn’t able to sleep until Matt returned, silently closing the wall behind him.

Keith didn’t comment on the fresh tear tracks that ran down the satyr’s face, nor did he protest when Matt curled up into his side, bleating softly.

He wrapped an arm around the older boy, and they drifted off together.

Keith slept better than he had in weeks.

* * *

 

Between Adrian, his newfound knowledge of the Galra, and Keith, Lance had completely forgotten about the promise he’d made to Coran—at least, until the cervitaur dropped by his house to check with him the afternoon of.

“Did you remember?” Lance muttered to Pidge as Coran trotted away.

“Now I do,” she replied, and Lance sighed. “We should go get Hunk, though.”

“Yeah.” Lance kind of wished he could back out, but Coran was counting on them, and the night  _ should  _ be fun—though he was going to suggest that they find a ghostlight cloud  _ outside _ of the forest.

He said quick goodbyes to his mom and Julia, and a few minutes later, they were standing outside of Hunk’s home—a cave built into Mount Altea, surprisingly cozy and well-lit for an underground cavern. Lance and Pidge had spent many a day in there, the pixie messing around with Rover, her will-o’-the-wisp, Lance providing conversation as Hunk cooked in the spacious kitchen.

As usual, they didn’t have to knock before the door opened, one of Hunk’s moms standing inside, smiling. “Hello, Pidge, Lance,” Keone said, voice soft but still firm and warm. “Hunk was waiting for you both. Coran came by a little while ago…?”

Pidge grinned nervously, elbowing Lance before she slipped inside. “Uh—oh, yeah,” Lance said, massaging where the pixie hit. “We’re gonna be out for a bit tonight, Allura wants us, y’know, the usual.”

Keone raised her eyebrows but nodded. “Alright,” she replied. “I’ll buy that.”

Lance half-smiled and went to walk through the door, but the golem woman grabbed his arm. “When I’m scrying tonight, I don’t think I’ll notice you three,” she whispered, winking. Lance broke out into a real smile, nodding in thanks, and entered the cave.

Hunk waved when he saw Lance, as did Sanya. “Hi, Lance. Hunk was just telling me that you three were going to stay out late tonight?”

“Hi, and yeah, we are,” Lance replied as he walked over to them. “Just Castle stuff, y’know, the usual. Don’t worry about us, we’ll be back.”

Sanya nodded, smiling in a way that made Lance suspect she didn’t believe them anymore than Keone did, but her eyes were serious when she spoke. “Alright—given that I didn’t see an enormous yellow-green-blue explosion in any of my dreams, I’ll assume you all don’t manage to blow up Altea. But…”

Keone was at her side in a second, hand on her shoulder. “Do you really think you ought to tell them?”

Sanya turned to her, gaze softening just slightly. “I know, dear, but they deserve a warning. It could be nothing—I’ve gotten needless nightmares before. But I don’t want to leave them unprepared, in case something  _ does  _ happen. Something’s not right with Altea.”

Lance winced. Yeah, something  _ wasn’t  _ right with Altea—and Lance was the only one privy to the secret, and somehow he was still keeping it a secret from everyone.  _ Though,  _ he thought,  _ I have actual reasons. Keith said that warning everyone would just bring an attack about earlier. I’ve got to hope that the Pride will be able to do something. _

Keone sighed, dark eyes falling to the ground before raising back to meet her wife’s. “You’re right. I just hate to place heavy burdens on younglings—though,” she added ruefully, “we’re ruled by one much too young to have the stress of a kingdom on her shoulders.”

Sanya nodded, eyes sad, before she started. “For the past few nights, I’ve had a recurring dream—or at least, they seemed connected, if not the exact same. It starts with the Castle, bright and gleaming, but then the light turns purple and it grows dark around the edges, and the Castle crumbles and falls. Deep under the ruins, there’s a darkly colored lion lying in a cage, sleeping—until he bolts awake, eyes wide and glowing gold and afraid. He’s young, but he looks weatherbeaten, with a scar across his nose and a white shock of fur at the top of his mane.

“The lion looks at his foreleg, which is turning black, wreathed in darkness—until the darkness collapses inwards and the leg disappears. The lion howls in agony, and then the cage collapses on him. Black lightning strikes the rubble, and I always wake up screaming.”

Hunk looked at her with worried eyes. “Mom? I haven’t heard any screaming.”

She smiled sadly back at him. “Your mama’s been casting muting charms around our bed every night, since the first time I woke her up.”

“Oh,” Hunk murmured, looking smaller than Lance could stand to see.

“Well, ah—I think we should probably go now,” the selkie babbled, wanting to break free of the dark cloud hanging over them. “Thank you for the warning, Mrs. Keone, Mrs. Sanya. We’ll see you in a bit? Hunk’ll get home unharmed, no worries.” He gently prodded Pidge and Hunk toward the door, smiling over his shoulder at the two golem women. “Bye!”

Sanya forced a smile and waved as they left, while Keone edged closer to Sanya and nodded at the departing trio. “Bye, Hunk,” called Keone. “Bye, Pidge, Lance.”

Hunk looked back nervously at his moms before following Lance to the door, waving slightly and smiling. “I’ll see you soon, Mom. Bye, Mama.”

“Yeah, bye, Mrs. Sanya, Mrs. Keone,” Pidge called. “We won’t accidentally blow anything up, don’t worry.”

“Mhm,” replied Sanya. “You be sure of that, now.” She didn’t sound nearly as convinced in their ability as Lance would’ve liked, but then they were out the door into the fresh air, free of the suffocating tension in the cave.

Pidge sighed. “We’ve got about two hours before we need to go get Allura. We need to get started.”

“I know a good ghostlight spawn—” Hunk started, but Lance cut him off.

“Where’s this spawn?”

The golem looked slightly surprised, though it was clear his mind wasn’t totally on the discussion from the worried cast in his warm eyes. “Uh, up on the mountainside?”

Lance smiled. “Perfect.”

. . .

Much to Lance’s surprise, when they started lurking around Allura, the queen jumped away from her meeting as soon as she got an opening and strode briskly toward them. If any of her staff members thought to question why she was walking away, they were too timid to confront the Queen about it, and she approached them without resistance.

She held out her arms, wrists touching as if waiting to be bound. “Take me,” she said. “Take me, I don’t care where, just get me out of this Castle.”

Lance grinned widely. “Gladly, my fair queen,” he said—rather gallantly in his opinion—and stuck out his arm for Allura to take. Pidge rolled her eyes. “We humble fae have arranged a night of sheer wonder.”

Pidge snorted, batting Lance’s arm away. “We’ve got a night planned so you can get away from this madhouse—just please don’t encourage him.”

Allura grinned, and Lance got the impression it was the first real grin she’d given in a few days. “Trust me—freckled and scrawny isn’t my type.”

Lance squawked in mild outrage as the other three laughed. “I’m not  _ scrawny.  _ Just ‘cause we don’t all have your super-faerie strength doesn’t mean I’m scrawny!”

Hunk cracked a smile, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re just lean, Lance. Mean and lean, a fightin’ machine.”

Lance nodded firmly, ignoring the way Pidge and Allura were still giggling. “See? Hunk is a true best friend. Not a fake friend like you two.”

Allura stage-gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “I have never—is this how you flirt with other fae? Moreover, is this how you talk to your  _ queen?” _

“A queen who calls her most devoted subject scrawny? Yes, it is,” Lance replied, laughing. “Alright, but seriously—we’ve got an awesome night planned. We just need to get you out of this place.”

Pidge put her arms out, and they all gathered together in a huddle. “Alright, so here’s how we’ve got it planned. ‘Llura, you’re gonna turn into a caladrius, and we’re gonna—”

She was interrupted by a shout behind them. “Oy, you all! I thought I saw a yalmor outside!”

Coran was motioning wildly at the door, and the other Alteans at the meeting all got up to look curiously at whatever had caught the cervitaur’s interest. He caught Lance’s eye and winked, subtly waving them on, and Lance grinned.

“Uh, scrap that plan, Pidgey. I think Coran beat you to it.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, grumbling, but flew over to the door opposite the mob. “Alright, alright. Just get out of here, fightin’ machine.”

Lance smiled. “Gladly,” he replied, offering Allura his arm. She grinned at him and took it, and they all strode out of the meeting room together, leaving the castle far behind them.

Half an hour later, they were up on the side of the mountain, sitting next to a babbling brook in a small glade, watching the sun set and cast brilliant reds and purples into the navy sky. Hunk was unpacking the food he had made, laying it out on a picnic blanket and explaining the ingredients and preparation that went into each dish. Lance tuned out the explanation, having already helped the golem with the cooking earlier, and faced out to the open sky.

He sat down on the grassy earth, pulling his knees to him, gazing as the sun continued descending toward the horizon. There was an odd atmosphere in the air, tinged slightly with melancholy—Pidge and Hunk didn’t seem to notice it, as they dug through the magically expanding picnic basket and bantered, but Allura came down to sit next to him.

She brushed her long silvery hair behind her ear, and then spoke softly. “Did you know that there used to be a building here?”

Whatever Lance was expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. He shook his head in reply, still staring out over the mountainside, and Allura resumed talking.

“It wasn’t a very large building—a sort of observatory, with a slanted roof and telescopes poking out so fae could stargaze. But it was a beautiful monument, removed from Altea, rarely visited but well kept. I had… friends who used to come up here. But, about 300 years after the war, a great earthquake shook the mountain. No one was injured, but the shrine was destroyed. It… it was never rebuilt, earth-affinity fae just merged the stone rubble with the mountain. It was right around here, next to the brook with a clear view of the sky.”

Lance nodded. Maybe that was why the air felt charged with strange energy—a building used to stand here, but it was leveled in a natural disaster. While nothing big had happened, it was still a kind of tragedy.

He sat for a moment more, silently soaking up the history of the place, before turning to Allura. She was still staring out at the sinking sun, eyes betraying the memories that crept in. While they might’ve been pleasant events in the time of their happening, based on the slight upward tilt of her mouth, they were clearly bittersweet.

“‘Llura…” he started, reaching out with a tentative hand. She turned, eyes still sad, as she met Lance’s—and then her face abruptly brightened, expression too cheery to be genuine, and batted his hand aside.

“Well, that was fun, Lance—now, let’s eat!”

Behind them, Pidge grunted through a mouthful of food, spraying crumbs everywhere. “You’d better hurry up, or it’ll be all gone by the time you two slowpokes stop admiring the sunset.”

“It’s not like we’ve got somewhere to go,” Lance replied, shaking off the invisible cobwebs that settled on his spine. “Slow down and smell the roses, Pidgey.”

Pidge snorted. “I’m allergic to roses. And nature in general. And other faeries.”

Allura laughed, the noise like bells. “I have noticed that. Not to Hunk’s cooking, though?”

“If I was, I would take the hives rather than part with this,” the pixie replied, clutching a sweet roll to her cheek, heedless of the sugar that clung to her skin after she took another bite. “Y’know, if I was fatally allergic to this, you’d probably have to pry it from my cold, dead, swollen fingers.”

Hunk rolled his eyes, grinning. “Alright, alright, thanks Pidge, we’ve already covered this. My cooking is not worth dying over, and you’re  _ not _ allergic, thank the maker.”

“Gotta go with Hunk on this one, Pidgeon,” Lance said, snatching a piece of Pidge’s pastry to a chorus of outraged squawks. “I don’t like our odds of keeping you away from something you want.”

The pixie nodded in satisfaction before taking another bite of the sweet roll. “Damn right.”

“Alright, we’ve covered Pidge’s unhealthy addiction and watched the sunset,” Hunk started, snapping his fingers. Four humps of rock formed out of the earth, and a larger circular slab rose up in the center. “Now are we all ready to eat?”

Allura smiled, waving a hand. Her cheek markings glowed pink as a tablecloth gracefully floated down onto the center stone, followed by the food, and she took a seat on one of the makeshift chairs. “Please. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. All I’ve had for days is Coran’s green protein goo.”

The other three groaned in unison. “Allura. You didn’t tell us you were being  _ tortured,” _ Lance said. “We would’ve broken you out ages earlier.”

“Literal torture,” agreed Pidge. “Protein goo for more than one meal or those racks and dials and chains the humans use? Human torture devices anyday.”

Allura rolled her eyes. “You know as well as I do, Pidge, that the humans have almost certainly evolved past those blasted things in the past 15,000 years. And Coran’s goo isn’t  _ that  _ repulsive.”

“First of all, as an aspiring chef, it’s not exactly gourmet,” Hunk replied. “I’m a fierce advocate as food, so I can’t hate it, but you could do so much better. And second—”

“—And second, I can’t say I trust that the humans evolved at all,” Pidge interrupted. “The only history we have recorded before the Scinding is that the humans were gradually becoming more and more suspicious of us, crying witch and burning  _ themselves _ at the stake because they thought they could actually capture and destroy a being with magic. What idiots.”

Lance cleared his throat, holding out a hand for attention as he unceremoniously plopped down on one of the mounds. “So. Eating? Was that what we were getting at?”

“Thank you, Lance,” Hunk said, nodding. “We’re all going to sit down and eat, and then we’re going to wait for it to get nice and dark, and then we’re going to move on with phase three. Alright, gang?”

Pidge saluted, taking a seat as well. “Sounds good, chief. Kudos on sticking to that rigid schedule.”

Allura chuckled, and Lance revelled in the warm atmosphere at the table. It might’ve been the site of a tragedy long ago, but now the comforting aura surrounded him like a hug, friendly and snug and cozy. With the last rays of the sun casting a gentle red glow onto the mountainside and the cool breeze brushing past, it was truly beautiful; and with the other three surrounding him, bantering and eating as if they’d known each other from the womb, he’d never felt safer.

“—ance? You haven’t actually started eating.” Hunk was looking at him, concern obvious in his warm brown eyes, but Lance just smiled and waved him off.

_ I’m fine,  _ he mouthed.  _ Lost in thought.  _ Good  _ thoughts. _

Hunk smiled back, and returned to a debate with Pidge about whether vampires were a myth made up by humans or a real, rare type of faerie living isolated in their own kingdom. Allura seemed content to just watch and occasionally interject, politely but steadily shoveling non-goo food in her mouth.

He figured he should follow her lead, and began eating as well; Hunk had truly outdone himself this time. He couldn’t imagine what it would taste like to someone who hadn’t eaten real food in ages—he couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to be cramped up in that castle for ages, really, beaten down by running the kingdom and never allowed to just  _ leave. _

Obviously Allura wasn’t a prisoner—she was there by her own devices, and one of the strongest queens in Altean history. The kingdom needed her, and she knew it, and she would never abandon it.

But boy, was Lance glad that they had gotten her away from the Castle for this one night. The power of one night to just relax was not lost on him—he couldn’t count how often he’d had to go down to the beach and swim for hours to destress. And that was  _ without _ having an entire kingdom on his shoulders.

_ Yeah,  _ he thought as he watched Allura’s eyes dance with delight as she laughed at something Hunk had said,  _ this is good. Very. _

A sweet scent caught his attention, drawing his gaze down to near his chair where a small plant was flowering. He reached down and picked it, intending to offer to braid it through Allura’s hair, when Hunk gasped sharply.

Lance looked up, startled and on edge, to see the golem’s eyes glowing amber before they faded back to brown. “What’s wrong?”

Hunk winced, putting a hand to his temple. “Lance, can you not pick anymore of that sweet pea? It’s got serious connections to clairvoyance; it’s like you’re simultaneously yelling at me and shining a flashlight in my eyes. Sweet pea in the hands of someone close to you is like a beacon.”

Lance breathed out a sigh of relief. He didn’t  _ think _ they were in imminent danger of a Galra attack—but then, he wouldn’t have guessed that the last time he went to see Keith he’d find him almost dead and have to skewer a bloodthirsty Galra.

Malevolent golden eyes flashed through his mind, eyes that stared out at nothing as a mouth screamed and gurgled blood, hooves that dug through dark sticky earth as they tried desperately to claw themselves away from the pain. A gleaming silver knife sticking out past ebony fur that made Lance sick to his stomach, a knife he couldn’t bear to look at after what he’d used it for.

“—nce? Lance? Are you alright?” That was Hunk again, but both Pidge and Allura were peering at him with concern in their eyes, and Lance realized he must’ve gotten lost in his memories.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, flashing a grin that was obviously fake. “All good. Just remembered something.”

Hunk and Pidge nodded, a light going off in their heads as if they understood what Lance was talking about.  _ They can’t know about Keith, though—oh. They think I’m thinking about Adrian. _

A rush of shame flooded Lance’s system as he realized he  _ wasn’t _ thinking of his brother, when Adrian’s sickness—curse?—should always be occupying the back of his mind.  _ Not _ guilt about killing that Galra, especially when it was necessary to do so.

“C’mon, continue your conversation,” Lance prodded, as they were still all looking at him with worry. “I’m gonna braid ‘Llura’s hair, and it’s almost dark. We’ve got to finish up this food if we’re going to make phase three.”

Almost grudgingly, the other three went back to talking, though after a while the tension seemed to dissipate, and Lance enjoyed the silky soft feeling of Allura’s hair between his long fingers. He deftly twisted the long strands together, slipping sweet pea blossoms in, before tying it off with a bit of twine he found in his pocket.

He clapped his hands together. “There! You’re beautiful now.”

Allura turned around, smirking. “Only now? I’m offended.” Her pink markings glowed, and a shimmering circle of mist appeared in the air before her. At first, all it showed was a screen of water droplets, but an image quickly materialized—the back of Allura’s head, moving as she moved, so she could see Lance’s handiwork. She nodded in approval and the mist dissipated. “The braid is fine work, Lance, I’ll give you that. One of the best I’ve seen you make.”

Lance grinned, dipping his chest in a little half-bow. “It’s a pleasure working with hair as fine as yours, my queen.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, mumbling under her breath before raising her voice to talk in a normal tone. “Alright, loverboy, it’s getting late, and I think we’re near time. Hunk?”

His eyes glowed briefly before he nodded. “They should start coming out any time now.”

Allura stood up off her stool, followed by the other three. “I’m assuming you’ve scouted a ghostlight spawn?” she asked, waving a hand. The rest of the food packed itself back into the basket, followed by the tablecloth which artfully tucked itself in the basket’s opening.

Pidge nodded, eyes glowing peridot green. “I can feel the magic gathering,” she murmured, raising an arm to point. “It’ll be over there, on the other side of the brook.”

Hunk clapped his hands together, and all of the makeshift furniture lost its shape and merged with the earth under them. “Alright then. We’ve all been clouding before, right?”

A collective murmur of assent went up—“Hunk, we’ve all been clouding  _ together  _ before.”

“Oh, right. Just making sure.”

“Allura, do you want to do the honors?”

The queen nodded, a smile forming on her face. “I’d love to.” Her eyes fluttered briefly closed and her markings glowed before she glided gracefully over to the side of the stream. “I feel it as well, Pidge.”

Lance let his magic take over, feeling his eyes start to glow as he searched for the ghostlight spawn. It wasn’t a sight thing—it required another kind of sense, the ability to feel the magic in the world. It was the most basic form of magic any faerie could have, because it was a sort of sixth sense built into their very essence. Any true magical being could locate another creature of magic.

The other three fae were bright shining beacons of power, Allura shining brightest of all, and the sheer light of the kingdom below was almost blinding. Even so, Lance was able to narrow his sense down to a slowly brightening pouch of magic on the other side of the brook, as Pidge had said.

Almost unconsciously, he cleared a path through the stream for the others to walk through, lost in the hum of the bubble of pure energy. Ghostlights were magic in its purest, unaltered form—they had no consciousness and purely reacted to the magic around them, simple orbs of untapped power. Limited power, yes, but many a faerie had been known to hunt down ghostlight spawns in an attempt to harness their energy. All fae who tried that, however, became lost to magic—unable to handle the power, they got drunk on it, addicted, until their body vaporized and they became pure magical energy.

Lance walked through the path he had cleared, behind Allura but in front of the other two, and they formed a circle around the hearth of the energy. The magic, invisible to the naked eye, was causing the others’ eyes to glow, an inner light brightening within. They shared a grin; clouding, as it was called, was both beautiful and intoxicating, the magic a rush of pleasure in their system akin to alcohol but with none of the after effects.

The pocket of magic in front of them swelled, brighter than ever, and Allura’s markings gleamed. Gently, like a feather falling, she lowered her hand to the bubble, and touched it with a single finger. The tip of the finger glowed pink, and the pouch shone brightly before popping.

Instantly, they were surrounded by dozens of ghostlights, swirling and floating around them like multicolored bubbles. Allura gathered them around her, curling her fingers in gracefully. They had turned pink like her markings and glowed brighter than the kingdom’s light below, floating in a loose globe around her.

She closed her eyes and they began to change color, from pink to blue to green to yellow to lavender to red, a swirl of mesmerizing lights. With both hands raised, she began to sightlessly conduct them to whirl through the air—flying around in tight formations, forming three-dimensional shapes and abstract patterns above their heads, dimming and brightening at the queen’s will.

Lance watched with wide eyes, silently taking in the beauty that was the ghostlights and Allura’s mastery over them. Any faerie could fiddle with ghostlights; it took true talent to manipulate them the way Allura did, changing colors and brightnesses and formations at will.

Around him, Hunk and Pidge seemed to share the same sentiment, watching the lights spin with awe as the magic was reflected in their unusually bright eyes.

As a finale, Allura gathered in all of the ghostlights in a tight ball around her, all pink as her pleasure; she raised both hands slowly, the orbs floating higher and higher above them. With a final flick of her wrist, they all flew outward in an explosion of color and light, settling around the fae and resuming their unchecked drifting.

Lance caught one on the tip of his finger, watching as it shifted from pink to blue. His magic brushed it, propelling it through the air, and he let out a whoop of euphoria. A soft yellow one joined his, followed by a bright green orb, and they circled each other through the sky, flying upward before finally bursting in a release of pent-up energy. Lance sighed as the remains of his ghostlight entered his system, giving his magic a tiny boost and rushing through his veins like pure energy distilled into his blood.

He laughed, pulling more ghostlights toward him, turning them blue and making them glow brightly, sending them circling and zooming and flying, twirling them around Pidge and Hunk and Allura.

Pidge was hovering three feet off the ground, delightedly manipulating the glowing orbs with calculated precision, holding five or six at a time in different shapes. Hunk’s eyes were wide and bright amber as he loosely controlled large clouds of them, sending bright yellow ghostlights of varying shades swirling through the air. Allura’s mouth was open and grinning, her eyes shining as she played with the ghostlights in the air, spinning them and sending them flying through space, more jubilant than Lance had seen her in months.

They danced with the ghostlights until only ten or so were left, the rest absorbed into their systems, humming through their veins and making their eyes shine brighter. Lance was reaching out with his magic to guide another one when suddenly they all flew to Hunk.

The golem’s eyes were wide and amber, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the flat vertical oval of ghostlights he had floating in front of him. He was divining, Lance realized; using ghostlights as a form of seeing the future.

The lights all faded to muted yellow, and Hunk’s eyes shone brighter—and then the orbs started changing.

A single, purple-black orb hovered in the center, the other lights keeping their distance, before a pulsing red one and a bright blue one swirled around each other, coming together with the purple light. They were quickly followed by yellow and green, and the five lights rose up above the others, whirling around each other and shining bright before they burst in a explosion of color.

Lance frowned slightly; was that a prophecy? Or just a bit of ghostlight dabbling? He was about to disturb the peaceful silence that had fallen around them to ask when Hunk gasped, his eyes going wide and glowing even brighter.

The remaining orbs collected in front of the golem, whirling around each other and pulsing bright green, moving faster and faster before they flooded dark, sickly purple and burst.

Hunk heaved for breath, the glow of his eyes fading before he looked up in a panic. Lance felt the aura of heady exhilaration and underlying warm safety dissipate in an instant, meeting Allura’s concerned gaze as Hunk caught his breath.

“Pidge,” he rasped. “Pidge!”

Lance’s eyes flew up to the pixie, who was staring down at Hunk with childlike fear in her wide eyes. “What? Hunk? What was tha—” Her voice faltered as a shadow rolled over her face, her expression going slack and eyes rolling back into her head. Her wings froze in place and she plummeted to the ground.

Allura flung out an arm and her descent was slowed, gently drifting to settle on the ground rather than smashing into it, and they all ran to her.

“No—hell—Hunk?” Lance gasped, looking desperately at his best friend, hoping his vision revealed something to him. “What happened to her?”

Hunk was staring at Pidge with wide eyes. “It—it felt dark. Wrong. Really wrong. I just knew something really bad was going to happen, and it was going to happen to Pidge.”

Allura reached out, taking her pulse and feeling her forehead. “A fever. Her heart’s still beating, but it’s weak.”

Lance looked at her, knowing the question he had to ask but dreading the answer. “And her core?”

The queen’s markings glowed briefly before she looked up, fear in her eyes. “I—I can’t feel it. It’s not letting me touch her. I can’t see anything!”

_ Just like Adrian. Pidge couldn’t see his core, either. _

Hunk was panicking, breaths much faster than usual. “Allura? Can you do anything? You’re a caladrius, could that help?” Lance put a hand on his shoulder, and the golem leaned into him, breath slowing down a fraction.

Allura looked overwhelmed and afraid, neither of which suited her. “I… I can try.” Her eyes fluttered closed and her markings glowed white, and suddenly a snow white bird the size of Pidge was sitting next to them.

The bird nudged the pixie with her beak, laying her head down on Pidge. She rested there for a few seconds before glowing, pulsing—and then finally fading and shifting back to faerie.

“It’s no use,” Allura gasped, panting. “There’s no sickness to extract, no wound to heal, no disease to cure. I can’t find anything—but I was able to ease the fever and the pain. I healed the symptoms but not the cause.”

Lance’s head dropped to his chest. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t manage to still them.  _ No. Allura was our only hope to heal Adrian. If  _ she  _ can’t find what’s wrong… who can? _

_ I have to find Keith. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe his Pride will know something.  _ Anything. _ We just need  _ anything.

He looked up—Hunk was still staring at Pidge in horror, but Allura was watching him. She needed to know that this wasn’t an isolated incident. “Did… did Coran tell you?”

“Tell me what?” More worry flashed across her face; she was surely wondering what else was about to go horribly wrong.

“Adrian. The same thing’s happened to him, and we were hoping you’d have an idea how to heal him.” Lance didn’t know how to continue, just dropped into silence and stared at his hands in his lap. He didn’t want to see the pity on Allura’s face, the sorrow carving the same lines onto her face that it carved on his.

“Oh, Lance…” He glanced up to see her hands covering her mouth, eyes shimmering with tears. “I’m so sorry. I can’t… I don’t…” Her breath shuddered and her perfect posture dropped, head falling to her chest as the tears fell. “I’m sorry.”

Lance reached over and pulled her close to him, letting her cry into his chest. Slowly, he collapsed over her, unable to stop the tears that ran onto Allura’s back, and they huddled together as they let the tears flow.

Eventually they both sat up, exchanging a sad smile born of shared pain, and turned back to Pidge and Hunk.

Allura, while still shaky, was back to her normal determined self. “We need to get her down from the mountain, back to Lance’s house. There we’ll collect Adrian and take him back to the Castle—I can section off a room or two for them, on the off chance it’s contagious. I’d put them in the med bay but, again, contagions, and I’m the most powerful healing force we’ve got. If I can’t do it, the med bay won’t be able to.” She drew in a wobbly breath. “I’d advise you both stay in your houses and get some sleep. I’ll alert you if anything serious happens, but I suspect you’ll need the rest in the days to come. Alright?”

Lance and Hunk both nodded their assent and started their hurried trek down the mountainside, the large golem cradling the small pixie to his chest.

Through the whirlwind of terrified, frenzied thoughts in Lance’s brain, one thing was very clear: in the morning, he was going to find Keith. And he wasn’t going to leave until he had the information he needed, even if it meant he was going to have to take on Zarkon himself.


	2. We'll Reel Away

Keith woke up early—not because of any strange intuition, or that he woke up in a cold sweat, no. He’d just been keeping to a sleep schedule of waking up near dawn for over 10,000 years (well, he never woke up during those 10,000 years), and it was hard to break.

Unfortunately, Matt was less of an early bird and more of a complete night owl. So Keith had to carefully extricate himself from the satyr’s long limbs and shift silently into rabbit form, slipping down the hole with practiced stealth and shifting back to faerie on the other side.

Shifting back took a few more tries than Keith would’ve preferred, but at least he hadn’t had a spell recently and was changing into the correct forms. It would’ve been very inconvenient to shift into a horse when he was trying for a bunny, especially when not waking up Matt was the goal.

He sighed, feeling his magic settle after the shift, and then whistled.

A rough rock figurine stepped out of the stone wall of the cave, standing at a attention, its only adornment a long bo staff clutched in a solid fist. It wasn’t a particularly well-crafted figure, nor a spectacularly agile one, but it had been crafted by Matt’s magic and therefore had quite a brain behind its pseudo-intelligence.

Keith pulled out his knife before nodding, reaching out and brushing it gently with his magic as a start command. The other day, after Keith had cut up some innocent shrubbery practicing, Matt had decided enough was enough and created a sparring partner for him. It didn’t even come close to the partners he’d had in ages past—but all of those partners had been alive, and Matt was definitely not the sparring type.

So the Dummy, as Keith had christened it, it was.

It began lumbering toward him slowly, an infinity between steps, before Keith ran up and lunged at it, slashing the knife at its chest. It knocked him back with the staff, and he hit the ground rolling and sprung back up, lunging forward again. This time he slid, making it through the Dummy’s legs and slicing upward with the knife through what would’ve been its crotch if Matt had bothered to add any details besides limbs. (The satyr had in fact suggested adding another particularly well-placed stone to his creation, but Keith had vetoed the idea quickly.)

A phantom copper-colored splatter was created where the knife hit, all part of its animation magic—Keith couldn’t actually harm the statue, so Matt never had to make any repairs, but if it sustained enough injuries it would “die” and the match would reset.

He was able to slide through and pop back to his feet without getting hit, just barely quick enough to parry the strike the Dummy sent flying his way. He darted his hand forward, slicing at the statue’s wrist, missing by barely an inch and having to duck to avoid the next blow. He used it to his advantage, slashing upwards with the blade and connecting with the Dummy’s arm. A bronze stain appeared and the arm dropped back to its side, hanging limp in an imitation of it being cut off.

Keith regained his balance and stance as the Dummy recuperated, charging in while it was still struggling to find its footing. When he got within two feet of the thing and a lightning fast strike to his chest flung him backward, he realized that it had all been a ploy to draw him in and he scrambled to his feet, miraculously still clutching the knife.

The Dummy was lumbering toward him, slow but confident, moving in for the kill. Keith was backed up against a tree, branches clawing at him, and didn’t have a whole lot of movement options besides charging.

So he did, running full speed with his knife arm outstretched, yelling a wordless battle cry. He ducked under the Dummy’s first blow, still running, and kicked off its chest like a springboard, off and up, flying into the air above it and driving the knife home into its skull. A bright patch of copper appeared, and the Dummy crumbled back into rocks, pulled like magnets to merge with the cave wall.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, and whirled around to face the intruder, knife outstretched and snarl in place—until he recognized the smiling face jogging toward him. “Keith! My buddy!”

Keith sheathed the knife and half-grinned back. “Hey, Lance. What brings you—” His eyes flew wide as a familiar tingling ran through his body, unpleasant and unwelcome, before collecting in his nose and forcing him to _sneeze._

As the pressure in his nose released, it flooded back through his system in a magical tide that forced his body to change, shrinking down, growing fur, ears lengthening and nose twitching.

Seconds later, he was a rabbit lying stunned on the ground, and Lance was standing over him with wide, worried eyes. Keith searched his magic desperately, but it seemed even further away than usual; there would be no stroke of luck, no quick escape from this spell.

“Keith? Mullet? That wasn’t normal, right?” Keith shook his head, and Lance frowned. “You can still understand me, right? Uh, how about one stomp for yes, two stomps for no?”

Keith stomped his front foot.

“Okay… has this happened before?”

One stomp. The selkie had actually _seen_ it happen before, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time.

“Did it hurt? Are you okay?”

Keith paused, surprised by the question. The soft, worried tone implied that Lance wasn’t asking it purely for research purposes; he was actually concerned for Keith’s well being. He stomped once, paused, and then stomped again.

“Can you shift back to faerie?”

A pause, then he stomped three times.

“Three? Is that yes and no?”

One stomp.

“Can you shift back to faerie _right now,_ then?”

Two stomps. _Trust me, Lance, if I could I would._

“How long do you think? A stomp is one hour.”

Keith paused, then stomped four times. After a completed spell, it felt like his magic was warring with itself and wouldn’t sit right in his body. It was wild, and couldn’t be controlled, and Keith couldn’t use it even for the simplest things.

Lance’s eyes went wide. “No, hell, I need you right now!” His eyes literally glowed with frustration, momentarily flickering even deeper, brighter blue before he got a handle on his emotions. “Look, Keith, something really bad has happened.”

 _Something with the curse?_ Keith searched Lance’s expression; even reading his core was magic too far from his grasp. Furrows seemed permanently etched in his brow, and his face was drawn and pale, dark bags rimming eyes that seemed to have given up hope long ago. _Definitely something with the curse._

“I know you can’t tell me anything right now, but just listen, alright?” Keith stomped a foot, and Lance sat down, crossing his legs and sighing. “Yesterday, I went clouding with my friends—Pidge, Hunk, and Allura. Queen Allura. We wanted to get her out of the Castle because she’d been under so much stress lately and we wanted to give her a chance to unwind, hence the clouding. You’ve been clouding before, right?”

Keith stomped once; it’d been millennia since he’d gone clouding, but he could still remember the swirl of ghostlights and red light shining on a dark, smiling face.

“Well, we went clouding, and it was all fun and everything, but at the end my friend Hunk gathered them all to him, like he was trying to divine the future. See, Hunk’s clairvoyant and practicing all forms of sight magic, including seeing the future instead of just the present. His moms practice sight magic, too—in fact, one of them had a prophecy just the other night—”

Keith stomped his foot impatiently; Lance was getting off topic, and from his panic it was clear they were on a schedule.

“Oh, right, I’m rambling. Sorry. Anyway, he had the ghostlights, and the first thing that happened was a few multi-colored ones—five, I believe—all joined each other in the center and then burst, not in a bad way but in a ‘this prophecy is over’ kinda way. And that was all good and everything, but then the rest of the lights turned bright green and started spinning rapidly before all turning dark purple and exploding—in both a very bad way and a prophecy over way.

“So Hunk looks up at Pidge, all panicked, and she’s like ‘What was that? Hunk?’ and then she faints and falls out of the air—she’s a pixie, by the way—and Allura catches her and we all run to her. And Allura’s a caladrius and super attuned to core magic, but she can’t feel anything, like Pidge’s core is resisting her, and she shifts to her bird form and tries to heal her but there’s nothing to heal? We took her and my brother both to the Castle, but Allura couldn’t _do anything._ Keith, I’m really positive it’s a curse now. I—I’m scared.”

Lance’s eyes were wide, blue and cloudy with unshed tears, and Keith felt his heart squeezing. Lance’s friends—Matt’s sister, were in danger, the kingdom was in danger, Lance was in danger, they were all in danger. Keith knew nothing about the curse, had no leads, and he was their best hope.

The faerie stuck as a rabbit because he couldn’t get his goddamned magic under control for two seconds was all those fae’s best hope. What a joke.

He could feel his emotions only tangling his magic more, pushing it even further beyond his grasp. He’d never be able to shift back at this rate—and this was when Lance really needed him, if he needed an informationless, magic-faulty faerie at all.

A warm finger brushed his side, and he glanced up. Lance’s hand had absentmindedly floated over to Keith; the selkie didn’t even seem aware of it, distractedly petting him as he gazed off into space. Normally, petting was a hard no in Keith’s book, but he didn’t have the heart to hop away.

Instead, his rabbit instinct took over a little bit and he nuzzled into Lance’s warm hand, relishing the feeling of safety that came along with it. Lance looked down in surprise, but then he smiled slightly and resumed stroking his fur.

Oddly, it all felt… clearer, with Lance touching him—like the thicket of thorns surrounding his magic receded a little bit. Like he felt when Matt touched him, trying to soothe his shifting pains.

 _What_ is _it with Lance? I don’t remember seeing an affinity for core magic anywhere in his core, and that’s pretty obvious stuff._

_Is it… not core magic? Then how is he clearly calming my magic?_

_And, more importantly, can he calm it to the point of me shifting back?_

He frowned, as much as a rabbit can, and then hopped up onto Lance’s leg. The selkie looked at him, concerned. “Are you alright, Keith? You seem kinda… jumpy.” Even with all of the awful things going on, Lance still had the heart to smirk at his own bad pun.

_What a dork._

Keith stamped his foot three times, hoping that Lance would ask more questions, better questions.

“Uh, I don’t get what you want me to say here, buddy.” Lance frowned. “Should I just start asking questions?”

One stomp. _Now just ask the right ones._

“Okay… have you remembered anything about the curse? Or anyone who could help?”

Two stomps, followed by another two stomps; Lance grimaced.

“Alright, have you figured out a way to turn yourself back?”

Three stomps; Keith started hopping. Despite the predicament they were in, Lance looked bemused. “Does this cure have anything to do with hopping up and down?”

Keith glared, and stopped hopping. His two stomps might’ve been a little harder than before.

“Ow, okay, sheesh. Is it anything you can do right now?”

Two stomps.

“Hmm… which part of that was wrong? One stomp for you, two stomps for right now, three stomps for both.”

Keith stomped once, excited. Lance was on the right track; either he had incredible intuition or luck was on their side. Keith didn’t really care which, as long as it got him turned back into a faerie.

“Alright. Is it anything _I_ can do?”

One stomp.

Lance looked surprised, blue eyes going wide. “Really? What can I do? I don’t think water magic or turning into a seal is going to help.”

Keith stomped helplessly, wishing desperately he could talk and guide Lance through this. Not that he knew exactly what to do, either; he just had a hunch that Lance could do it.

“Okay, okay, I want to figure this out as much as you do. Do you have any idea of what I might even start to do?”

Keith stomped, and then hopped over to Lance’s hand, patting it.

“Should… should I pet you?”

He stomped once.

“How will that help?”

Keith tap-danced a series of stomps on the ground.

“Okay, I get it! Only yes or no questions. I didn’t think your disrespectful sass could carry over even in rabbit form; clearly I was wrong.” Lance paused, thinking, while Keith waited impatiently. “So you want me to pet you… so you can shift. Is it like a ‘you need more magic’ thing? Do I need to funnel my magic into you so you can muster the energy to shift?”

Keith stomped two times; he did get the sense that Lance needed to project his magic out, but not as a battery. More like a calming brook that would slowly wash away the thorns sitting in its center.

“So you don’t need more energy; your magic is what’s keeping you from shifting, right?”

One stomp.

“Then if you have enough of it—is it blocked off, somehow?”

Keith stamped his foot excitedly.

“And do you think I can free it?”

Another stomp.

Lance smiled—and then his face fell. “How?”

Keith stared helplessly; all he knew was that Lance’s touch seemed to calm down the war of his magic, calmed down his wild emotions. Maybe that was it—maybe his touch didn’t actually affect core magic. Maybe his touch just affected emotions, and the link between magic and emotion was incredibly strong.

Keith nosed his head into Lance’s hand, and the selkie stroked him absently. The púca almost jumped; before, it had felt like a gentle stream tugging at unyielding thorns, just doing the barest to free his magic. Now, Lance’s fingertips felt charged with emotion and power, and much stronger currents washed over him.

Keith looked up at Lance, and wasn’t surprised to find his eyes glowing bright blue. As he watched, the light got brighter, and the river rushed faster, and Lance met Keith’s gaze in shock. “I… feel something. Two creatures fighting on a beach, it feels like. My magic is washing over them, breaking them up, like a tsunami.”

Keith stamped his foot eagerly; this is what they needed! His magic felt closer than ever… he just needed a final push, and he would be able to grab it.

Lance’s eyes were wide as he stared out at nothing, shining with the light of a thousand suns and yet just barely hinting at the power contained within. Keith felt the river surge, battering the thorns away… he felt them finally give, float away on the massive tide of power, and he finally… reached out and… touched it…

Seconds later, he was lying with his head in Lance’s hand, staring up at the sky, stunned by the fast transformation and even more stunned that he was a faerie again.

He looked over at Lance and the selkie met his gaze and held it for one second, two—before they both burst into incredulous laughter.

“I—I can’t believe—I spent a whole morning—trying to turn a goddamn _bunny_ —into a faerie—” Lance wheezed, actual tears of mirth streaming from his eyes. “This is—is some kinda—joke, right? Oh my Go—”

Keith couldn’t speak, just clutched his stomach as he laughed harder than he had in years. Something about the whole situation was just so ridiculous he couldn’t help laughing, and Lance’s laugh was incredibly infectious, warm and bright. He squeezed his own eyes closed to stop the tears from streaming down, only opening them when their laughing fit drew to a close.

Upon opening them, he saw Lance staring at him with no mirth whatsoever on his face, just an expression that made Keith squirm, in not an altogether unpleasant way.

But it was gone in an instant, leaving Keith to wonder if he had imagined it, and Lance grinned wide. “So. That was an experience.”

Keith realized he was still basically lying on Lance, and hurriedly sat up and scooted away, coughing slightly. “Uh, yeah, sure was.”

Was Lance slightly red? “Wha—what was that, if you don’t mind me asking? Was that your magic, on that beach? It was fighting something, Keith. Something dangerous. There was… something wrong. Seriously wrong.” All the mirth from before had drained from Lance’s gaze, leaving only solemn concern.

The púca dipped his head. “Yeah, that was my magic. It used to work right, when I was a lot younger, but then something happened and it started… doing that. Shifting is a lot harder for me, and occasionally I’ll shift without meaning to. I call them spells, and afterwards my magic will be hard to reach, if not impossible. It’s… yeah.” When he looked up, Lance was staring at him with both worry and amazement in his gaze.

“You—you live in the Galra-infested forest, _alone,_ with only faulty magic to your name, and you’re still alive? You’re still resisting the Galra? Holy hell, man, that’s insane!” Lance was grinning, but he quickly sobered up. “But are you okay? It can’t be easy, living with magic that does crap like that to you. Is there anyway I can help?”

Keith wanted to cry, or hug Lance, or _something_ to stem the tide of emotions and sharp relief _._ Instead of judging him, or shoving him away, or telling him that he was defected and flawed—this goddamn selkie was _worried_ about him. When he had a brother and best friend who were dying because of a curse caused by _Keith’s_ race. _Lance_ was concerned for _Keith._ He didn’t even know how to respond.

“Hey—hey, Keith, are you alright? Did I say the wrong thing?”

Keith could feel his eyes shining with unshed tears as he met Lance’s gaze and smiled. “No, Lance—you said the absolute right thing. Thank you.”

Lance’s worried expression softened into a warm smile. “Uh, no problem, buddy.”

They sat in silence for a few ticks, a strangely comfortable silence, before Lance cleared his throat. “Wait—that day, with the bunny, and the goat. The goat was you, right?” Keith nodded, smirking slightly. “Was the rabbit you as well?

Keith nodded again, on the verge of laughter at Lance’s outraged expression. “Yeah, that was me. I stuck around to watch you, because I was curious. I don’t see a lot of fae in that part of the forest. And then you put on such a performance—”

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed indignantly, but he was grinning. “Just ‘cause I didn’t know you have lousy taste in berries doesn’t mean you have to mock me. Did you puke later, too?”

“Nah,” Keith replied, chuckling. “You really don’t know anything about púca, do you?”

Lance crossed his arms, his eyes gleaming with mirth. “Enlighten me.”

“Gladly. Púca evolved a defense mechanism, a long time ago, to keep any other creatures from stealing their kills. We really only had the forms of mortal animals, plus our goblin form, so we were vulnerable to stronger, magically-enhanced creatures. But when a púca takes a bite of any food, only another púca can eat it without getting sick. It didn’t stop internal fights for food, but it did keep our kills safe.”

“And the blackberries? I’m assuming that wasn’t some blackberry bush monster that you killed.”

Keith shrugged. “All púca have a thing for blackberries. It’s kinda strange, but they _are_ delicious.”

“Of course _you’d_ think that, you blackberry-poisoning weirdo.”

“Says you—you probably eat fish for every meal.” Keith shuddered, mostly for show, though he did find the idea disgusting.

“Don’t pretend to know me, _Keith,”_ Lance said, putting extra emphasis on his name. “At least I don’t poison whatever I eat. Or—y’know, that could be useful! Siblings that aren’t the same species as you wouldn’t be able to steal food off your plate…”

“Do you have non-selkie siblings?”

Lance nodded. “Mhm. I have a selkie older sister, then three elf younger siblings. My brother’s the oldest out of the three, and then two younger sisters.” His face went pale, and Keith’s mirrored it; with the rabbit problem, they’d both lost sight of their original mission.

Keith felt sick. How could he have let such an important task slip out of his mind?

“Uh, right—you weren’t really able to answer me as a rabbit. Do you have any leads?”

The púca shook his head wretchedly. “I—I don’t. Can you go over what happened, again? Maybe it’d give us some insight.” He was grasping at straws, and it was likely Lance knew that, but they were both desperate enough to give it one more go.

“So, the night Pidge got cursed—the most important thing was Hunk. I don’t know if he was really prophesying the first time or not, but the second time definitely was.”

“What happened the first time? Describe it.”

“Well, he called like ten lights to him, and they were all blank—but then one turned purple-black, but not like an evil Galra purple-black? I mean I guess it was kinda Galra-like but it seemed lighter. It was all alone in the center, but then two lights turned red and blue and swirled toward it, and then a yellow and a green one followed, until they were all whirling around each other in the center. Then they flew upwards and burst—but again, not a bad kind of burst. A good kind of burst.” Lance’s gaze slowly drifted down, lost in thoughts and memories and fears.

Keith thought it was likely Hunk _was_ prophesying, but he wasn’t sure if whatever it was was going to happen in two days or two millennia. That was the thing with seeing the future; it was rarely clear. Shiro had been a great seer, primarily with dream-sight, and he frequently preached about the fogginess of the future.

A thought struck him, a slightly blurred memory from his time as a rabbit floating back.

“You said that there was another prophecy? From his moms?”

Lance raised his head to meet Keith’s gaze, startled. “Yeah. It started with the Castle, all new and everything… but then everything turned dark, and the Castle crumbled. And under the remains of the Castle, a lion sleeps in a cage. It’s dark-furred, with a scar across its nose and a partially white mane—”

Keith couldn’t help a gasp escaping him, the gears in his head frantically turning to catch up with this new information. Lance looked at him curiously, but Keith waved him on. “Sorry, keep going.”

“Okay, the lion—anyway, it wakes up, and its leg is turning black and wreathed in darkness, and then suddenly the leg disappears and the lion screams, and there’s dark lightning. Does something there ring a bell?”

Keith’s brain was moving a mile a minute, so it was distractedly that he replied. “Uh, yeah, it does—that lion is my adopted older brother, Shiro. And by adopted, I mean we kinda adopted each other. No parents involved. He’s an Altean púca that disappeared about a year ago. I thought he was recaptured by the Galra—but now I’m not so sure.”

“Wait. _Re_ captured?”

“Yes. He was captured before the 10,000 year sleep—for experimentation in Haggar’s clutches. I don’t know all the details, but Shiro still has nightmares about it.”

“You’re sure the curse is Haggar’s work?”

“A hundred percent.”

“So you think your brother has possible information about it, if he was in captivity with her.”

“Possibly. Besides that, Shiro’s the best seer I know. He could’ve seen something about it in a dream.”

“But if he was recaptured by the Gal—” Lance’s eyes blew wide. “Wait. In the prophecy, he was buried under the Castle.” He started speaking very quickly. “You think he’s in the Castle! We can get to the Castle!”

Keith nodded, grinning broadly, trying to keep himself from literally jumping for joy. He hadn’t been this close to finding Shiro since he got a lead for a prisoner and found Matt instead. He just needed to get to the Castle—“But I’m Galra. I won’t be able to get near Altea without being seen by a few hundred random fae. No way will I be able to get even _near_ the Castle.”

“I’m taking no for an answer, buddy. We’re going to break into the Castle—like, now—and rescue your brother and learn about the curse. Alright? Alright.” Lance reached out and grabbed Keith’s wrist, pulling him into a run.

“But, Lance! I can’t—”

Lance slowed to a stop, turning to face Keith. “Keith. Your brother’s captured, and from the prophecy his odds don’t look good— _unless_ we go save him. And if we don’t save _your_ brother, _my_ brother will die, along with one of my best friends. We can’t give up now. We’re so close. _Please,_ Keith, I need you to come.”

All of the arguments against the idea flew out the window when Keith met Lance’s sad but determined and oh so blue eyes. He was right, and Keith knew it—but it was hard to willingly go into territory where the fae would try and kill you the moment they saw what you were. And while it wouldn’t be obvious by sight alone, anyone with core affinity would figure it out in a heartbeat. And what if he had a spell?

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. _Shiro_ was waiting for him, depending on him to come break him out of his cage. And lives were at stake, now. If Keith didn’t act, he might as well go find Haggar and surrender himself to her, because that’s basically what he’d be doing. Letting her win.

Keith gazed into Lance’s flashing eyes and made a decision.

“I’m in,” he replied, nodding sharply.

Relief broke over Lance’s face like the clouds parting to let sunlight through. “Thank God. Alright, we’re going to need a plan of attack.”

“Run in as fast as we can and desperately hope we don’t get caught?”

“How about _no,”_ Lance replied. “I like my plans with a decent chance of success. We—” A light shone behind his brilliant blue eyes. “We need to warn someone! We need someone to meet us, to help us get down to the dungeons without being seen.”

“And who would this mystery faerie be? It needs to be someone who won’t freak if they see a Galra.”

“My main man Hunk, of course… now, how to get word to him? He scries all the time! But the likelihood he’s doing it right now and looking for me is way too low…” Another idea flashed behind his eyes; it was very intriguing to see Lance’s thought process, to watch him plan out what started as a suicide mission and turn it into a successful one.

The selkie darted to the nearest bush, looking frantically. “Keith! Look for sweet pea!”

“Sweet pea?” Keith hadn’t been raised in the conventional way for a faerie—he’d always been told components were for the weak, that true fae relied on their power and their power alone to perform magic. And while he hadn’t conformed to that mindset, the names of the different plants had never stuck with him.

“Pinkish flowers that grow on tall, straight stems. They look kinda papery, delicate, and their petals curve. Great for scrying.”

Keith nodded and started searching without questioning Lance’s rationale for dropping everything to look for a flower. A few minutes later, he located a bush and called Lance over to it.

When the selkie saw it, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he said, reaching down for a stem. “Here goes nothing.” He picked it—nothing seemed to happen, until suddenly his eyes flashed with magical light and he stared straight ahead.

“Hunk! Buddy! I need your help.”

Supposedly answering a voice in his head, he kept talking. “Yeah, I know I’m with the dark wrong thing. That’s Keith. Look, I need—”

“Seriously, Hunk, I know this is weird, but I need you to calm down and listen to me. Yeah, I’m with a Galra in the forest. Wait! He’s a _good guy._ The problem is, there’s lots and lots of Galra still alive; I’ll go into detail later. But we need to break into the Castle so we can find a púca—”

“It’s a species, Hunk. The main Galran species.”

“No, they’re not all evil. Anyway, we need to get into the Castle without being seen. The púca in the dungeons has information that could cure Pidge and Adrian! They’re under a Galran curse! Please, Hunk—meet up with us outside the Castle gates?”

He paused for half a minute, then visibly sagged with relief. “Thank you so much, Hunk. I really owe you one. You’re gonna love Keith! He’s antisocial and loves making fun of me. You all will get along great. Toodles!”

Keith couldn’t help snorting. “Toodles?”

“Oh, shut it,” Lance replied. “We’re all set; we just need to get to the Castle before anyone gets suspicious of Hunk hanging around. I mean, they shouldn’t—Hunk’s an angel, but they’ll probably suspect some prank from me coming.”

“I wonder why.”

“Y’know, you and Pidge will get along fantastically; you both are delightfully sarcastic and have something against me, God knows what.”

“We’re probably just jealous of your shining personality.”

Lance rolled his eyes and grinned. “That was low, even for you. We need to get moving, and fast. C’mon.” He waved, and started running—but if Lance spoke truth and they really did have a time limit, Keith had a much better idea about how to get there quickly.

But, just to play it safe… “Lance, grab my hand.” He pulled off one of his gloves, stuffing it into his pocket.

The selkie skidded to a stop. “What?” His voice sounded kind of strained, and the tips of his ears looked redder than usual.

“Take my hand,” Keith repeated, holding out his palm. “I’m going to shift, but I want to test something.”

“Uh, alright,” Lance replied, gingerly taking Keith’s hand in his own. “Now what?”

“Concentrate on your power, your ocean, keeping those fighting creatures apart.” Lance hesitated before nodding, letting his mind slip into his magic. At once, Keith felt his own core calm, and gripped it firmly before tugging.

It felt easier than it ever had, and he shifted almost seamlessly, with none of the strain from earlier. Now an ebony horse, he tossed his head and whinnied, hoping Lance would get the drift.

Lance grinned up at him. “Let’s ride.”

In the past few years, Keith had stuck to a very strict rule: no riders, no petting, no touching whatsoever. He hated even the _idea_ of a faerie using him as transportation or stroking his soft fur like he was some sort of household pet.

How funny that now he’d thrown all of those rules out the window, with just one new faerie entering his life. Rather painfully entering his life, too—the casualties included a broken ankle and a bad burn. A few days ago, he would’ve said the reward in no way outweighed the cost. Now, he thought very much the opposite.

It was partly the way Lance yelled as they tore through the forest, wild and gleeful and tinged with worry whenever Keith dodged a particularly low-hanging branch. Keith could imagine his face; beaming and bright with deep blue eyes wide and sparkling in excitement.

When did his impression of Lance become fond, rather than annoyed? And when did he start looking forward to their banter, their pointless picking at each other over little things like word choice and hair styles? When did he become so reliant on this kind, compassionate, funny, pain in the rear boy with the ocean-blue eyes?

Keith shook his head and ran faster, trying to leave his thoughts in the dust and trying doubly hard to ignore the joyful hollers of the selkie on his back.

Needless to say, his attempts were futile.

. . .

Ten minutes later, much faster than if they’d gone on foot, they arrived at the divide between the forest and the town. Keith would’ve continued on, riding through the town, but Lance tugged at him and got him to stop just inside of the tree line.

“I can’t ride through town on a very, _very_ conspicuous horse with golden eyes! Everyone’ll find that suspicious. Is there a different form you can take? One more suited for stealth?”

Keith nodded, and Lance hopped off, still keeping a hand on his side. “Are you ready?”

The púca nodded again, feeling his magic steady with Lance’s power flowing through him, and tugged himself into his cat form. The shift was once again much smoother, and Keith marveled at the kind of power Lance must possess to do what Matt, adept in core magic, could not.

Lance started cooing, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “Aww, you’re so adorable as a cat…” Against his will, Keith felt himself purring, rubbing his head into Lance’s hand. In his defense, he was a cat and had a cat’s instincts, and the selkie’s touch felt ridiculously good against his furry scalp. “Oh my gosh, I feel so honored. The great Keith is purring and letting me scratch his ears. I never thought this day would come.”

Keith rolled his eyes and forced himself away, feigning indifference as Lance made a little disappointed aww sound—and then he yowled in surprise as two hands darted out and snatched him up.

“I’m just going to hold onto you so you don’t get harassed by small children, because you don’t seem like the type of cat that would appreciate that, and so you don’t get accidentally trampled or turned mauve by a rogue spell or something. Cool? Of course we’re cool. And even if we weren’t, you can’t talk.” Keith snorted, lightly pawing at Lance’s arms but eventually giving up and contenting himself with snuggling against Lance’s chest.

Lance began jogging at a brisk pace through the town, though he seemed to be concentrating on not jostling Keith too much. _That’s kinda swee—polite, polite, it’s a decent thing to do. Good Lord, Keith, get a grip on yourself._

In the meantime, the púca stared out at the town in wonder. He hadn’t seen it in over 10,000 years, and it was remarkable how much it had changed, especially since the last time he’d seen it they’d been preparing for war. Gone were the shuttered windows and worried whispers; instead, there were vendors and frolicking children and wide open agoras. It was beautiful, peaceful, a true safe haven for fae. Allura had done wonders improving it and protecting it—he just hoped they could stop Haggar from tearing down the millennia of work.

Soon enough, they reached the Castle—that, at least, was exactly how Keith remembered it. Enormous and bright white and gleaming, with glowing aqua panels set into the base. Quite beautiful, and intimidating; Keith would hate to be part of the army that tried to storm that fortress.

Lance was clearly searching around for his friend Hunk when a voice hissed next to them. _“Psst._ Lance. _Lance.”_

The selkie whipped around toward the voice, but Keith only saw the gray stone of the wall surrounding the Castle. It was clear Lance was equally befuddled before he gasped and nodded, reaching out to pat a rock. “Oh, hey, Hunk. I didn’t see you there. Awesome camo.”

“Thanks,” the voice replied, and a figure made of stone stepped away from the wall.

 _Oh,_ Keith realized. _He’s a golem._

The golem’s eyes slid open, revealing a gaze shining amber, before he shuddered and shifted back to faerie form. He was smaller as a faerie, but not by much—he was tall, a couple inches taller than Lance, dark skinned, with warm brown eyes and a orange bandana tied around his head.

“Is—is this—” he stammered, staring at Keith. Keith stared coolly back, glad for once he couldn’t speak so he could let Lance make the awkward introductions.

“Uh, yeah, this is Keith, my _cat,”_ Lance replied, charging his words with pretty obvious hidden meaning. “He’s the one I was telling you about. Found him on the streets and he just wouldn’t leave me alone.” The selkie looked down at him with a smirk, bringing a hand to scratch him behind the ears. “Isn’t that right, Keefers?”

Keith managed to keep from making any embarrassing noises and fixed Hunk with an exasperated stare, like _can you believe this guy?_ The golem laughed, a short, warm sound.

“Yeah, he obviously loves you,” Hunk said, and Keith felt like he had somehow been accepted as trustworthy without even saying a word. “Alright you guys, we need to book it. Coran and Allura are in a meeting, but they won’t be in it for long.”

Lance lowered his voice. “Is Pidge doing alright? I know she’ll hate to miss the action, but…”

“She and Adrian are both fine, all things considered. From what I heard from your mom, the move went well and they’re both adjusting to their new rooms. Pidge woke up and is hopping mad when she’s not passed out. She’s doing much better than Adrian, but the disease—curse—hasn’t had as much time to work, so maybe that’s why.”

Lance nodded, unconsciously holding Keith a little tighter. “Okay. We need to get down to the dungeons.”

“Allura never lets anyone down there; I barely knew we had dungeons.”

Lance started running, only looking back to reply as Hunk followed them. “I think we’ve found the reason why.”

 _I hope so,_ Keith prayed. _Dear God, I hope so._

They darted through corridors and pathways that Keith could have navigated from memory, slowing down to a walk whenever they passed anyone and nonchalantly waving. It was clear they frequented the Castle; Lance had said they went clouding with Allura, referring to her without her title. Obviously they were close, and hopefully that closeness would be enough to get them down to the dungeons without arousing suspicion.

No one looked twice at Keith, which he found miraculous. Even if he was just a regular cat, he’d thought that Lance carrying around a kitten no one had ever seen before would at least get some odd looks. Either random animals wandered around the Castle all the time, or it was just a Lance thing.

Keith suspected it was just a Lance thing.

Keith took the downtime of traversing the Castle to study Hunk; outwardly, he appeared nervous, fidgeting with his clothes and darting his gaze back and forth, but from the warmth of his eyes Keith guessed that he was likely extremely kindhearted.

Searching his core, though, Keith found a lot more not revealed on the surface. He was a golem, as he showed earlier, but his core was Balmeran, and a warm, solid yellow that surrounded Keith like a hug. He was naturally adept with earth magic and sight magic, like Lance said—Hunk came by clairvoyance intrinsically, but he wasn’t bad at prophesying either, which was impressive. Normally in sight magic, there was either present-sight or future-sight, not both.

Keith looked deeper; with Lance’s magic surrounding him, it was much easier to focus and read cores than it had been in the past. He was able to see the faint marks of the fae closest to the Golem; bright blue, Lance’s; a sharp, calculating green that Keith suspected belonged to the cursed Pidge; a soft amber and a warm terra cotta that suggested familial ties. Parents? Yes, they were his moms, but not by blood—he could detect the faintest hint of Altean cores.

A shining bright core tugged him from his examination of Hunk’s—a core rose pink, blindingly powerful, and extremely familiar. And moving right toward them.

Keith started hissing, clawing at Lance’s hands. The selkie dropped him in surprise, yelping, and Keith darted through the nearest side door. Lance and Hunk quickly followed, shutting the door behind them, and they found themselves trapped inside a small broom closet.

“Keith?” Lance whispered sharply. “What was _that?”_

Keith glared at him, hoping that he’d get the message to shut up and listen.

Lance opened his mouth, about to speak, when Hunk’s eyes suddenly shone amber and he grabbed the selkie’s arm. “Shh,” he whispered. “Allura’s coming.”

Lance’s eyes flew wide and he immediately clammed up; Keith shot him a smug look and he scowled silently.

A few seconds later, he heard footsteps walking by, but he was careful not to let his magic drift and brush Allura’s. While most fae might only get a slight chill down their spines, and that was if they were extremely perceptive, Allura would be much more aware of what was going on.

She passed by without hesitation, and Lance breathed a sigh of relief as soon as her footsteps were out of range. “That was a close one,” he muttered. “Nice job, Hunk.”

“It was really Keith,” the golem replied, shooting the púca a look.

“Yeah, but you didn’t nearly claw my fingers off.”

Keith just rolled his eyes and smirked; Hunk stifled a chuckle. “Whatever you say, pal.”

Lance reached down and picked Keith up again, despite acting so hurt about the scratching, and then opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Luckily there was no one in the corridor to question why two teenage fae and a cat were hanging out in a broom closet, and they continued their dash toward the dungeons.

In the ten minutes it took to navigate through the maze of the Castle to an area none of them had ever visited, Keith had some time to actually think about was going on.

First: he was inside Altea for the first time in over 10,000 years. He wasn’t being yelled at. No one was trying to capture or kill him. No one was screaming about dark, evil monsters. It was a miracle.

Second: he was inside the Castle again, and it felt like a dream. Not only a dream, but like coming home. He couldn’t count how many days he’d spent in this fortress, goofing off with his only friends in the world and wishing he could live there instead of in Daibazaal. The Castle was ten times more a home to him than the Galran Kingdom had ever been; a hundred times more.

Third: he was about to find _Shiro._ Shiro, his brother, who he’d only known for a fraction of his life but had forged a deep bond with, a bond that came from companionship in pain. For being there for each other when neither of them had anyone else. And then Shiro had gone missing, and Keith felt like his life had fallen apart for the second time, and now he was about to put his world back together again because they were going to find _Shiro._

Fourth: they had based their decision to break in on a large number of hunches. He was almost positive the assumption that Shiro _was_ in fact being held in the dungeons was correct, but they were basing everything on the hope that he would have information about the curse. Keith thought it was more than likely—but what if Shiro didn’t know anything? For one thing, it would mean that Adrian and Pidge were more likely to… to succumb to the curse, before they could find a cure.

For another, it would break Lance’s heart. And Keith couldn’t bear to see that happen.

_What have I gotten myself into? I just—_

“Lance,” Hunk hissed. “Is this it?”

Keith wrenched himself out of his thoughts and back in what was happening around him. They were in a part of the castle he’d never seen before, a dimmer corridor than others they’d ran through, and given the long flights of stairs they’d run down, they were far under the earth.

“I think so,” Lance replied. “It should be just around this next corner.” The selkie started walking, Hunk close on his heels.

“How do you know all of this, anyway? We’ve never gone down here before.”

“Once when you and Pidge were working on your engineering stuff and it was just me and Coran, he offered to show me around to some of the less frequented places. By the way, did you know there’s a secret passageway from the Castle hall to the kitchen?”

Hunk gasped. _“No_. Oh, you have got to show me that sometime.”

“Will do, my friend. Just, after all of this craziness blows over.” Hunk chuckled nervously in reply, and Keith marveled at Lance’s optimism. _“Blows over”? Not exactly how I would’ve referred to an imminent Galran invasion._

Lance got to the corner and paused, inhaling deeply, seeming to collect himself. Keith couldn’t exhibit the same control; he was both extremely excited and incredibly apprehensive about what they were going to see when they turned the corner.

They took the turn, and Lance gasped. Keith just felt relief.

There was only a single cell—no rows of cell blocks like you would’ve expected. A single cell holding a single man. His clothes were torn ragged, his hair much longer than Keith remembered it and still streaked with that odd white stripe, and his normally gray eyes had started turning red at the edges—but he was _Shiro._

His emotions ran wild, and with it, his magic, until he was shifting into faerie form without a second thought and running to the bars of the cell.

“Shiro!”

“Keith?” His voice was hoarse, cracking, barely above a whisper, but Keith couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment. Shiro was here, a little worse for wear, but overall whole—and no one was ever going to drag him away again.

Shiro had moved to press up against the bars, and Keith flung his arms around him. The other faerie returned the hug with equal force, if weakened by his time in captivity. It wasn’t a phenomenal hug, given the thick stone bars in between them, but to Keith it felt like the best hug he’d ever gotten.

“How—how did you get here?” Shiro rasped, gently releasing Keith and backing up slightly. “I thought for sure you’d never find me.”

“It wasn’t me—it was Hunk’s mom,” Keith replied. “Oh—these guys got me here. Lance is the scrawny freckly one, and Hunk is the big one with the bandana.” He gestured at them both, who had drawn a little closer to the faerie they’d been searching for.

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed, but there was no real heat behind it. “Again, I’m _not_ scrawny.”

“Dunno, man, that’s the second faerie who’s called you that. Might be a sign.”

“Yeah, a sign that my best friends are losers.”

Keith flushed at the implication— _best friend?_ —before turning back to Shiro, ignoring the amused half-grin on his brother’s face. “Anyway, Hunk’s mom had a prophecy about a lion in a cage under the Castle, and I knew it had to be you, so we rushed here. No one saw me, don’t worry.” He suddenly found himself at a loss for words. It had just been _so long_ since Shiro had disappeared, and he had been half-convinced he’d never see him again. To have him right there, in front of him, was just too much for his already frayed emotions to handle. “I—I…”

He felt himself tearing up and scowled, turning away. He felt the other three’s eyes on him; he knew if they had been alone, Shiro would’ve tried to comfort him, but he wasn’t sure about the other two yet and didn’t want to embarrass Keith. He appreciated that—he just wished he wasn’t _crying,_ goddammit. He was supposed to be holding it together!

Behind him, Lance stepped up, speaking softly. “What he’s trying to say is that we need information. I know you’re probably still a little shaken, and we’re going to break you out, I promise—but lives are at stake.”

Shiro sighed—not a gasp of surprise, but a sign of defeat. “Haggar’s unleashed her weapon, I’m assuming?”

Lance and Hunk were the ones who gasped in surprise. “Uh, yeah—how did you know?”

“That’s why I came here, a year ago. I had a vision—a nightmare, really—where a silver-haired queen was lying in a bare bed, and her eyes were turning red and her teeth were sharpening and she was smiling evilly, and black lightning was flowing into her like an unholy river. And I knew the lightning had to be Haggar’s—and that the queen was Allura, and everyone concerned was in grave danger.”

“We think it’s a curse,” Lance started. “Is—”

“I know it’s a curse,” Shiro replied. “Because in its early stages, she tested it on me.”

Keith turned around at that—he had a suspicion about what Shiro was going to say, but he had never heard the real explanation before.

The older púca raised his right arm, and the selkie and golem gasped. Keith just nodded to himself.

The arm was deeply scarred from the fingers to a bit past the elbow, but they weren’t normal scars—they were purple-black and jagged, like tendrils of dark lightning replaced veins and were pulsing under translucent flesh. They were hideous, foul things that set Keith’s teeth on edge just looking at them. He couldn’t imagine the pain that would come from living with them.

“Are you—are you saying—” Lance looked sick, paler than Keith had ever seen, and Hunk stared at the arm in horrified shock before looking up to meet Shiro’s gaze.

Shiro nodded solemnly. “This is what the curse did to me.”

“No,” Lance whispered, shocked, before whirling on Keith. “You’ve seen this! You knew his arm was like this! You knew this is what would happen! Why didn’t you _tell me?”_

Keith stammered, holding up his hands; this Lance wasn’t the usual, bright one, nor was he the cold, calculating one that drove a knife through Keith’s paw, nor even the righteously angry one that defended the honor of his friends. This Lance was backed into a corner, terrified and lashing out at anyone and everyone in a desperate attempt to channel his emotions into something other than crippling fear.

His core was still bright blue but pulsing angrily, tendrils flying from it like solar flares off a sun, and he snarled. “Stop it, Keith. I can feel you in my core! Stop!”

The púca stepped back, pulling his drifting magic away from Lance like he’d been burned. _How? How could he feel me? He’d have to be crazy powerful—_

Lance was advancing, but Hunk grabbed his arm and he turned his formidable rage on the golem. “Let go of me, Hunk!”

Hunk just shook his head. “You’re not thinking right, Lance. We still need to hear what Shiro has left to say, and Keith—he may have withheld information, but we’re learning it _now._ You can yell at him later, but that won’t help Pidge or Adrian.”

Lance glared for one count, two, before deflating and turning back to Shiro—but not before sending Keith a withering scowl that made Keith shrink back a little further. Lance had been angry before, and scared before—but that anger had never been so strong, so fierce, and solely directed at him. It scared Keith more than he wanted to admit.

Shiro resumed talking once Lance calmed. “Lance, I know you don’t want to hear this, but Keith didn’t know what had happened to my arm. He knew the Galra had done it, most likely Haggar, but I never gave him the full story. I never gave anyone the full story.”

“He could’ve figured it out, though. He could’ve at least told someone. It’s kind of an important detail!”

Shiro just sighed. “I’m just saying that he didn’t know. But this was only an early trial of the curse, as I said. It’s only got more powerful, but more subtle. I’m assuming it just looks like your friends are really sick?”

Lance and Hunk nodded. “They have a bad fever, but Allura can’t feel their cores.”

“That’s because the curse is designed to hide itself. If Allura could see their cores, she know exactly what was going on, and that the Galra were still alive.”

“Why, though?” Hunk asked.

Shiro raised his arm again. “If you could see cores, you would be able to see that I am Altean. But you would also see that this arm, and only this arm, has Galran core magic in it. For fae with weaker core sight, it looks like I’m fully Galran, which is why I’m in this cell. I pleaded my case to Queen Allura, but she could only see the Galra in me and thought it was a trick—which is a fair thought, what I would’ve suspected, but it’s wrong.”

“Wait. Weak core sight? Allura? Someone with stronger core sight than _Allura?”_ Lance asked incredulously, and Keith winced. “That’s impossible. Besides maybe Haggar, Allura’s the strongest faerie in all the realms.”

Shiro sighed. “There is one faerie I know of who has stronger core sight than any but maybe Haggar.”

Lance scoffed. “Who? I’ve never heard of them.”

“You have. He’s in this room, after all.”

Keith cringed as Lance’s gaze was pulled directly to him. “You?” There was no warmth in his tone, only cold contempt and surprise. Keith nodded miserably. “How the hell do you have stronger core magic than the Queen of Altea?”

“I don’t have stronger core magic,” Keith replied. “I have stronger core _sight._ Everyone else with core magic I know can manipulate it. I can’t touch other fae’s cores; I can only see them. And I can see them with more clarity and in greater depth than anyone else I know, but I can’t do anything with the knowledge. It’s my only aptitude, besides a little bit of fire magic. I can barely manage anything else.”

“You didn’t think to mention that?”

“You never _asked!”_ Keith exclaimed, suddenly angry. “I could barely control my magic before you came along! Why would I think telling you about it was important if I couldn’t _use it!_ Of course you with the incredibly powerful empathy magic”—Keith hadn’t consciously made this connection before, but now he knew it was unquestionably true—“wouldn’t worry that I might not be able to control any powers I technically had!”

Lance opened his mouth to retaliate when Keith’s words sunk in, seeming to stun the anger out of him. “Wait. ‘Incredibly powerful empathy magic’? All I have are weak water and healing affinities. I can control them, sure, but it’s nowhere near as powerful as core sight.”

Keith huffed. “You idiot, obviously you’re powerful. I’ve… been to fae with core magic before, and they couldn’t calm my power. The best they could do was painfully snatch me out of a spell. You’re the only one whose magic could help my own. Do you think that’s easy? And you’ve got a strange grasp on other fae’s emotions. Haven’t you noticed? Fae a little quicker to tell you things, a little friendlier? You’re very easy to get along with, Lance, despite the fact that you’re an annoying asshole sometimes.”

Lance stared at him, shocked. “But—”

This time, Hunk stepped up. “No, buddy, I think he’s right. It… it sounds right, and if he’s as powerful reading cores as Shiro says—and I don’t doubt he’s telling the truth—then he would know.”

“Why—why didn’t you say anything?” Lance wasn’t accusatory, this time, just timid and confused. “If you knew my magic was more than I thought.”

The lack of heat in the selkie’s words drained the heat out of Keith’s. “I didn’t know until now, for sure. I knew there was something about you since I met you, but I didn’t know until now. And I thought you knew.”

Lance shook his head wordlessly, and they locked gazes for a solid minute, neither boy saying anything, neither boy knowing how to start.

Eventually, Hunk broke the silence, and they turned to face him and Shiro. “So. Your arm. The curse did that? Haggar put Galran core magic into your arm?”

Shiro nodded. “Yes, she did. And I thought that was basically it; I knew she was up to no good, but I thought it was more like she was trying to create core magic hybrids or something. See how much she could do with manipulation of core. But after I had that dream, I remembered a conversation I overheard while semi-conscious. It—it was horrible, in Haggar’s clutches, but I—” The púca faltered, and Keith placed a hand on his shoulder through the bar, a weak sign of support but a sign nonetheless.

“But I did learn things, and the… conversation… coupled with the vision told me that what Haggar had done to me wasn’t where she stopped developing the curse.” He paused, taking a shuddering breath, before continuing, staring straight out at them with dead serious eyes. “She inserted Galran core magic into my arm. Now, she’s inserting Galran core magic into their very cores, replacing the Altean.”

Keith gasped; he was sure Lance and Hunk did, too, but he couldn’t hear it over the roaring in his ears. “She’s turning them Galra,” he muttered, barely aware he was speaking aloud. “She’s corrupting them.”

Shiro nodded. “My guess is she’s targeting Alteans one by one—are there any similarities between the afflicted?”

Keith looked to Lance to speak, but his mouth was still hanging open, pale as a ghost. Hunk was in a similar state; both their cores were wild and throbbing and scared. Keith suspected if he could read his own core, it would echo theirs.

“The, uh,” Keith stammered—he didn’t think he knew enough to answer, but it was clear Hunk and Lance weren’t in the state to, “cursed fae—one is Lance’s brother and the other is Hunk and Lance’s friend. I don’t know them personally, but—”

Lance started speaking; his voice was hollow, dull. “They both live in the same house, for one. But so do four other fae. They both have core magic affinities.”

Shiro’s voice was softer when he continued. “I think that’s probably why. If she targets the fae more attuned to core magic, everyone afterwards will be easier prey. And if she corrupts Allura… well, the kingdom will be hers.”

“Do—do you know a cure?”

Shiro bowed his head and Keith knew that what they had come all this way to learn was for nothing. Keith might save his brother, but it wouldn’t be enough to save Lance’s brother or Matt’s sister.

Not that he was about to give up; no, he’d confront Haggar himself if it gave them a chance to survive.

_This will break Lance and Hunk, though. Lance specifically has held out hope for so long, and to be so close and still nothing? He’s so strong, but everyone has a tipping point._

_I found mine a long time ago; I think I might be rediscovering it._

“I…” Shiro sounded sad, the weight of the past year weighing heavier on him than the twenty others he’d lived through, and it cut Keith to the core. “I don—”

Footsteps interrupted his thought, footsteps coming much to fast to hide from. Everyone froze, as if somehow by not moving they wouldn’t be seen, as a faerie rounded the corner.

The figure stopped, and stared in shock—at Lance, Hunk, and finally zeroing in on Keith. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped, and everything in Keith screamed at him to bolt, though there was no outrunning the inevitable.

Finally, the Queen of Altea found her voice to whisper two words.

_“Prince Keith?”_

* * *

 

Lance would’ve liked a bit of a warning for the maze of wild emotions the day would bring. Pidge falling ill the night before; followed by the odd rollercoaster that came from watching Keith train with his knife and subsequently shift into a rabbit in that oddly painful way of his; feeling Keith’s magic fighting against whatever it was on the beach, something distinctly wrong about the whole thing; realizing that they finally had a hope for a cure; learning that Keith had withheld information, however unintentionally; learning that his own magic was way more powerful than he’d known; and realizing that they didn’t have a hope after all, just learning that the curse was worse than they’d ever suspected.

But this. This took the cake for surprises.

“Wha— _Prince_ Keith?” was all he was able to muster.

Keith was staring at Allura with wide, scared eyes, like an animal trapped in a corner. He didn’t reply; Allura elaborated, though she seemed equally if not more shocked.

“He—he should be dead,” she stammered. “He was my friend, before the war. Prince Keith, son of Emperor Zarkon and Empress Honerva—she became known as Haggar after the war started. He used to hang around the Castle all the time, before…” Her face hardened, memories flooding in. “Before he betrayed us all.”

Keith said nothing; Lance desperately wished he would.

Allura’s face was now contorted in rage as the shock gave way to fury. “You murderer! Backstabber! Traitor! If you didn’t love us, Altea, I thought you at least loved him! How could you do this? How dare you taint his memory! He died because he couldn’t imagine life without you; he still loved you, even after _your_ family betrayed us!” Lance had never seen Allura this angry, and it terrified him. Wrathful tears were leaking down her face, stony with hatred. Her voice steadied, cold and condemning. “And yet you still live.”

Lance turned to Keith and gasped aloud. The púca was standing silently, shaking like a leaf in a strong breeze, face contorted in misery and tears streaming down his face. He didn’t say a thing; just stared at Allura and cried, cried as if all the rivers in the world overflowed from his eyes, as if all of human sorrow had coalesced into his tears, as if Life and Death themselves wept through him.

Allura didn’t waver; she thrust out an arm, and where a blank wall used to be a cell hollowed out at an incredible speed. Her other arm shot out and Keith was picked up like a ragdoll, thrown into the newly formed room; before he could move, she slammed both hands down and stone bars followed, thoroughly and completely sealing him in.

The púca boy didn’t even raise his head.

Allura turned her red-eyed gaze onto the two boys not locked up. “What are you doing here, with these two Galra traitors?”

Hunk was silent, staring at Keith lying prone in his cell, so Lance replied.

“‘Llura… Allura, please. Whatever you think they did—they’re innocent. Keith didn’t betray your people, and I’m sure Shiro didn’t either! And as for what happened 10,000 years ago, I can’t say for certain, but I _know_ they’re not traitors. It was Haggar! She sucked up all the remaining core energy in Daibazaal and put all the Galra to sleep; that’s why Keith never came back or whatever. I don’t know who you’re talking about, but whoever this ‘him’ was…” Lance looked back at the púca sprawled in his cell before turning to Allura. “I know Keith would never willingly hurt him.”

“How do I know he hasn’t brainwashed you? Tricked you, somehow?”

Hunk cleared his throat, coughing nervously. “With all due respect, Allura—you’re the one that was hurt all those years ago. You know the time of the war better than anyone here, with the exception of Keith and Shiro. But while I don’t know the Galra very well, I do trust Lance completely. So if he says that Keith and Shiro can be trusted, I think they can be trusted.” He paused, fidgeting, before making a final point. “Could you be making a hasty decision? I know the Galra hurt you, Allura, but did _these?_ Don’t blame a race’s crimes on two innocent representatives.”

Allura was silent; Lance couldn’t tell if their arguments had gotten to her or not, so he kept talking, desperate to plead Keith and Shiro’s cases. Earlier, he had been furious with Keith for what was near betrayal in Lance’s eyes; now, he wanted nothing more to snatch him out of the cell and get him safely back to the forest, where Allura’s angry gaze couldn’t reach him.

“Allura, I know you don’t want to listen. But these two aren’t the only Galra still alive. Haggar is, too—and she’s created a horrible curse, that transforms Altean core magic to corrupt Galran core magic. Adrian and Pidge both have it, and we’re worried you’re going to be one of the next victims. We—we don’t have a cure, but Shiro is our best source of information. And Keith knows a rebel Galra group! Maybe they have knowledge they can share. But you’ve got to let them out! If we can’t face Haggar united, we can’t face Haggar at all, and our friends will die and the kingdom will fall! Please, Allura—not for me, but for the good of Altea.”

The queen said nothing, just stared into Lance’s eyes with a gaze so fierce it felt like she was staring into his very soul. She turned to Hunk, who didn’t shrink back from her scrutiny, and then to Shiro, who met her gaze calmly, if tiredly, and then finally to Keith, still slumped against the wall, with a curl to her lip.

She returned her gaze to Lance and sharply nodded. “Fine,” she said. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Lance almost fainted from relief.

Allura turned and stalked off, flinging her hands out behind her and dropping the bars of the cells with a crash. “Meet me in the bridge in twenty doboshes. Don’t be seen. If you need help, ask Coran.”

Lance barely heard her; he rushed to Keith’s side, Shiro slightly behind him. He kneeled down, gently taking the púca’s head in his hands, turning it toward him. Keith’s bloodshot eyes fluttered weakly—good, he wasn’t unconscious, just stunned and emotionally wrecked.

_I can relate._

Lance shook the thought off; he could mourn his own losses later. Pidge and Adrian weren’t dead yet, but whoever caused Keith to cry definitely was, and he needed help.

“Keith? Buddy?” he murmured softly, gently slapping his cheek. “Mullet? Samurai?” That was a new nickname; one he’d thought of when he stood in the forest, watching Keith spar with the animated rock figure, that made him flush using even now. It was a lot kinder, a lot fonder than he’d meant it to sound, but there was no taking it back. He wasn’t even quite sure he wanted to.

What was it with this insufferable, emo, mulleted boy?

Keith stirred further, his eyes opening fully. He cracked a half-grin; it was weak, watery, but it was an attempt and Lance appreciated it. “Samurai, huh?” His voice was hoarse, wavering, but he was speaking; so much better than the terrifying silence from when Allura was yelling at him. “That’s kinda… badass, don’t you think?”

Lance didn’t miss the allusion to their earlier conversation, when Keith had given him the name ‘Sharpshooter,’ and chuckled. One could argue that his chuckle sounded wet, almost teary, but if someone did argue that Lance would be the first one to shoot them down. “You _are_ kind of a badass samurai with that knife.”

Keith laughed; if Lance concentrated, he could sense faint feelings within Keith… his emotions, if what he had said about Lance having empathy magic held any truth. There was something dark, mournful, blackened and grieving and dull, but currently trying to overshadow that feeling was something much lighter, almost fond—Lance stopped looking. It was an invasion of privacy; emotions were different than cores. It was one thing to look to see someone’s species, someone’s nationality; it was another to look to see how they were feeling.

Lance smiled back at Keith, content despite everything on his mind; he could panic later, but now… now he felt alright.

He worried about how much of that had to do with Keith.

Someone tapped his shoulder, lightly, and he turned around. Kneeling next to him, Shiro asked a question with his eyes, and Lance nodded hastily, stepping away. Of course Shiro would want time with the brother he thought he’d never see again; it was selfish of Lance to get to talk to him first.

Shiro approached cautiously, like he was approaching a wild animal. He didn’t get within a foot of the other púca before Keith flung himself at him.

Shiro returned the embrace with equal fervor, and Lance got the sense they were probably both crying. Shiro was murmuring something into Keith’s hair, and Keith was choking out whispers through his sobs, and Lance felt a faint twinge of envy sting him. _Will I ever get that with Adrian? Or will he…_ He batted the thought away; there were much more important things to think about. It wasn’t right.

Letting the two brothers have their privacy, he turned to Hunk, walking out of Keith’s cell. “Well, that was fun.”

Hunk let out an incredulous laugh. “Fun? Oh yeah, that was hilarious. I almost got thrown in jail; we literally came to break someone out of jail; with someone who got thrown into jail; both of whom are members of a race that are our millennia-old enemies, but are apparently not the bad guys. Real fun.”

“Hey, we did successfully break a guy out of jail; that’s something we can mark off our bucket lists.”

“Our ‘illegal things to do that we’ll never actually do oh wait’ bucket list, maybe.”

Lance shrugged. “You gotta take what you can get sometimes.”

“Yeah. Like horrible knowledge without a cure…” Hunk’s voice cracked. “God, Lance, I’m sorry. I’m just terrified. We came down here for knowledge, and I barely know what’s going on, only that my friends are under some horrible dark curse cast by a faerie who should be dead.”

Lance tamped down on the tears that wanted to escape at Hunk’s words, concentrating on keeping his voice strong as he replied. He was not going to cry. “I’m sorry that you kind of got pulled into this without me telling you anything; I’d tell you now, but we’re about to have a meeting with Allura where I suspect I’ll have to explain the whole thing again. Can you just wait twenty minutes? I’m so sorry, Hunk.”

The golem abruptly pulled him into a hug. “It’s not your fault, Lance. This is just so much more than I thought would ever happen; I’m a little overwhelmed. But it’s not your fault in any way, shape, or form. You got that?”

“Yeah, Hunk, I got that.” Lance smiled, returning the embrace before disentangling himself. “We need to get Keith and Shiro, though. It might take us a little bit to get to the bridge and avoid as many prying eyes as possible.”

“If we pick up any more Galra, they’ll think we’ve started a travelling menagerie.”

Lance laughed; a brighter sound than he’d made in the past few hours. “C’mon,” he said, “let’s get our two favorite cats.”

Before he even walked into the cell, however, Keith and Shiro walked out—Shiro’s arm was thrown over Keith’s shoulder and they were both smiling tearfully. Lance felt another pang; a sibling reunion that he might never get to have, if they couldn’t find the cure for the curse. He mentally shook himself again—they _were_ going to find the cure for the curse.

Shiro grinned, a foreign expression on the man. He looked so more at ease than he had watching from the bars of the cell, as if being physically reunited with his brother had allowed him to relax in a way he hadn’t been able to before. “We heard you were starting a menagerie.”

* * *

 

Keith was a cat again, being carried by Lance through the Castle, but this time he had his brother by his side and nothing to lose by being caught by Allura. They were still cautious, of course, but nowhere near as jumpy as they were breaking in.

They had run into Coran already. His eyes had been immediately drawn to Keith, even as a cat, and he had smiled sadly. “Hello, Prince.” His eyes and his words had said everything and more, and Keith had wanted to cry. Coran didn’t hate him—he didn’t hate him for the things the Galra, the things his family had done.

Then the advisor had gone up ahead, clearing the way for them by yelling about a globinheffer being spotted outside. Keith had shaken his head and huffed a laugh; some things never changed.

Shiro was trotting along as a husky, at Lance’s side. Keith remembered when Lance had suggested they both shift into cats, as those were slightly more conspicuous than dogs.

Shiro and Keith had both shared a grin as Keith tried to keep from laughing as Shiro complied. The shriek Lance had made when instead of a black housecat, a fully-grown lion appeared in front of him was extraordinarily loud and incredibly high-pitched; Keith wished he had a recording. He had also not been able to stop himself from howling with laughter at the expressions on the other two’s faces, something he didn’t regret in the slightest even when Lance had whacked him upside the head.

Needless to say, Lance hadn’t argued when Shiro transformed into a husky instead. Keith had resumed his comfortable spot as a cat in Lance’s arms—something that unfortunately hadn’t escaped Shiro’s notice, as he kept looking over at Keith with his eyebrows raised and an irritating smirk on his face. Keith just scowled at him, shaking his head slightly; Shiro’s eyes laughed in reply.

_Great. Him and Matt will make an amazing pair._

They made it to the bridge in good time; once they were there, Coran locked the doors and nodded that it was safe. Shiro and Keith shifted back to human—Keith with Lance’s help—and waited for Allura.

She arrived a minute or two later, looking much more composed than when she’d left. There was no trace of her tears, not even puffy eyes, and while she remained aloof she wasn’t screaming with rage. “Alright. Tell me what happened. From the very beginning.”

Lance coughed. “Uh, what beginning? Like, 10,000 years ago? Or like a week ago? Or—”

She cut him off with a glare. “10,000 years ago. The war. What happened, after my father gave his life to destroy Daibazaal. What went wrong. Prince Keith?”

Keith winced at the title; he’d always hated being Galran royalty. His mother—though he equally hated to think of her that way—might’ve respected him if his powers were greater, if he’d been able to tinker with core magic. Instead, he was the mistake, the second son, the prince greatly inferior to his biological brother, Lotor. Lotor would inherit the throne, and took after his mother in power and intelligence and took after his father in cruelty. Keith… Keith was unnecessary, a trait that gave him the ability to spend much of his time in Altea.

Allura didn't use to call him Prince Keith unless there were adults in the room. She was using it now to show him where they stood—not as childhood friends, but as sovereigns of enemy kingdoms. He accepted that, but it wasn’t as easy to dismiss the sting.

He just nodded in reply, making his face carefully blank and his voice devoid of emotion; he often ignored the lessons his parents had drilled into his head, but when they were practical, like now, he wasn’t above falling back on them.

“Your father did destroy Daibazaal’s core; you’re not wrong about that. But rather than let her kingdom wither and die, Haggar absorbed all the remaining core magic into herself. It was enough to keep her alive for 10,000 years—but instead of letting all the other Galra die, she put us to sleep for all that time.

“We only woke up recently, because Haggar had finally enough knowledge and power to put her plan into motion. For the past three years, I’ve been hiding out, hitting Galra bases, with a rebel Galra group called the Pride of Marmora. Shiro and I both joined after the war officially started. I—”

Allura held up a hand. “A rebel Galra group?”

Keith nodded. “The Galra aren’t evil, Allura. You know that. Altea and Daibazaal coexisted peacefully for thousands of years. It was Haggar—Honerva.”

“Your mother,” Allura stated, and Keith couldn’t keep his temper from flaring.

“Yes, Allura, my mother! You know that damn well!” His hands clenched into fists; he felt a hand on either shoulder, and turned to look. One hand, predictably, belonged to Shiro, and the other was Lance’s. The selkie met his eyes and grinned encouragingly, though the smile was only slight and tinged with concern.

Keith took a deep breath, drawing strength from the support of the other two. He glanced at Hunk; the golem was looking nervously between the queen and Keith, but when he noticed Keith looking he flashed him a weak smile.

The púca exhaled slowly and resumed speaking. “Anyway… Haggar was obsessed with studying core magic, particularly the core of the kingdom. One day something went wrong, and she ruined the core—corrupted it, and the cores of the Galra in the kingdom were corrupted along with it.” Allura opened her mouth to speak, her eyes narrowing, but Keith cut her off. “Yes, I was corrupted too. No Galran cores are whole or pure anymore. Some fae were able to resist the corruption to their minds, I don’t know how—but the fae in control of their own minds joined together to become the rebel group of Marmora.”

“So you’re saying all of the Galra’s crimes are because of corruption? You’re saying their war crimes should be ignored for the idea that they weren’t in control? The deaths of so many Alteans were only because of one faerie’s accident?”

“No, Allura, I’m not. Haggar is evil; so are Lotor and Zarkon, and their officers. But the masses _aren’t_ acting of their own wills. They’ve been turned into dark forms of themselves—and that’s what will happen to all of Altea, if we don’t act. That’s what’s happening to Pidge and Adrian as we speak, and it won’t stop there.”

“So what happened recently? What led to you three plotting a jailbreak?”

Keith started to reply, but Lance stepped forward, shooting a glance over his shoulder before facing Allura. “If I may, your Majesty.”

Allura flinched at the title—a barely perceptible twitch that Keith wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t spent so much time with her. Lance was fighting fire with fire, it seemed—Keith could hug him.

_I… wait._

Before he could explore that uncomfortable train of thought any further, Allura composed herself. “You may, Lance.”

The selkie nodded his thanks. “I ran into Keith in the forest about a week ago; the first time, I had no idea he was a Galra. Sure, Hunk and Pidge and I joked that maybe the goat was a Galra changeling, but there was no real substance behind it. Rumors that Pidge had cooked up fueled the conversation, and I was the first to shut it down.

“Then I saw him a second time, and he accidentally shifted in front of me, and I knew there _were_ Galra in the forest. At least, I assumed he was the lone straggler. I didn’t quite realize there were more until later.”

Allura held up a hand to stop him. “You said you knew he was Galra, without even talking to him to judge his intentions, and didn’t report him?”

Lance closed his eyes, biting his lip, before replying. “I was going to… but every time I decided to tell someone, I couldn’t.”

“Why?” There was no emotion behind the query, just cold judgement.

“He looked… he looked more terrified than I was, in the moments between him being in faerie form and whatever he shifted to to run away. I know it was wrong, and I should’ve told someone, and I’m sorry. But I couldn’t.”

This was news to Keith— _that_ was why Lance hadn’t told Allura? Their first conversation  seemed a lifetime ago, but Keith would’ve never guessed that the reason Lance had basically betrayed his kingdom was because Keith had looked _scared._

He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, to be honest.

Allura just nodded, and waved Lance on.

“And then I ran into him again—it was after Adrian had gotten cursed, and I was furious, and I wanted answers, so I stabbed him when he was a cat and didn’t free him until he agreed to talk. He did, and told me that I had destroyed Altea because I had told them about him; I replied that I hadn’t, and asked why that would’ve doomed us. He said that you would try and stage a hasty attack, and that would just push Haggar to strike faster, and there was a rebel group in place that was working to weaken them but they needed more time.

“The only other thing of note was Keith was attacked by a Galran soldier, and almost killed. Haxus was his name—I killed him.” Hunk gasped at that; Shiro and Allura were silent, Allura’s face as still as stone. Keith could see Lance shaking; he wondered how much courage it had taken him to admit to taking a life, even an evil one. “He was about to tear out Keith’s neck, so I stabbed him.”

“Buddy…” Hunk whispered. “I never knew…”

Lance laughed mirthlessly. “How could I tell you?”

The golem held only concern for his friend in his warm brown eyes, though Keith wasn’t sure Lance could see it. He seemed much too affirmed of his own monstrocity to consider that others might not view it in that light.

“Anyway, I healed Keith, so we got out of that alright. But there are definitely Galra out there, and more powerful than we’d ever thought. Keith is the strongest faerie I know; he wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight.” Shiro shot Keith a look, but it wasn’t teasing—it was concerned, and Keith knew he was going to have to talk about the encounter with Haxus the next time he and his brother were alone.

“Then, after the night we went clouding, I resolved to go talk to Keith, because I needed information about the suspected curse and he was the only one who could possibly have any leads. At first, he didn’t have anything, but I mentioned a dream Sanya had, one that hinted to Shiro’s whereabouts. He picked up on the clue, I got Hunk to meet us here, and we snuck in the Castle with Keith disguised as a cat.”

“And your meeting with Shiro? What information did it yield?”

“That Pidge and Adrian are under a curse, one that Haggar is planning to cast on all of Altea. The reason you couldn’t read their cores was that the curse was disguising itself—it replaces—”

“Altean core magic with Galran core magic, yes, you said.” Allura nodded, contemplating the information. Keith only prayed that she would accept it, and that they would begin planning how to take Haggar down—rather than just being thrown back into the jail cells, as he feared would happen. Allura wasn’t unreasonable—far from it—but she could also let her emotions rule her head, and Keith wasn’t sure what her emotions were telling her.

Coran stepped forward; Keith had honestly forgotten he was there, the cervitaur was so quiet. “Allura, if I may… we’ve been through a lot, you and I, and I trust you more than anyone else. When you make a decision, I’ll stand by it. But for what it’s worth… I believe these fae. Their tale rings true. Plus, I already know most of them, and I trust them as well.” Coran met Keith’s eyes and smiled. “ _All_ of them.”

The queen sighed, all her anger seeming to drain out of her, leaving nothing but the need to do what needed to be done. “Alright. We need to come up with a plan of attack; contact the Pride. I’d like to get a representative for them here in the Castle—in disguise, of course. The rest of us will wait here; there’s no use in strategizing without the whole team.”

Keith was slightly bewildered by the incredibly quick change in her stance, but Shiro just nodded beside him. “I’ll go contact the Pride; I’ll see who I can bring back.”

“Wait, Shiro, are you sure?” Keith turned to his brother—his hesitation was partly concern, partly a desire for Shiro to stay near him lest he disappear again. “I can go instead.”

Shiro just smiled. “I need to get out of this Castle, Keith. I’ve been trapped underneath it for a year. I’ll be fine, don’t worry. And I have a feeling you probably didn’t stay in the Pride’s good graces while I was gone.”

Keith grinned guiltily. “You might be onto something.”

“I always am with you, little brother,” he replied. “Probably because with you, it’s always something.” He ignored Keith’s yelp of protest and turned back to Allura. “Should I leave now?”

She nodded firmly. “Immediately. Make it clear that this is in the best interest of both parties, and it is _not_ a request.”

Shiro gave a stiff bow in return and shifted into an eagle, taking flight through the large open skylight set into the ceiling.

Allura leaned over to Coran and murmured, just barely in Keith’s earshot, “We should really close that sometime.” He muttered back something even quieter, and Allura laughed slightly.

Keith marveled at the change; it was the first time he’d seen her looking remotely happy in over 10,000 years. It brought back memories of an easier time, where he himself was quicker to smile and slower to anger; where the weight of a kingdom only hovered over Allura’s shoulders, instead of grinding her into the ground with it; where Myrddin was still alive.

He shook off the thoughts; they wouldn’t get him anywhere. He’d have time to mourn later. Hell, he’d _had_ time. Three years of consciousness, and about 9,700 years of nightmares.

A hand gently touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin, hastily jerking himself out of his thoughts. The hand belonged to Lance, and the selkie was looking at him with concern barely masked by a grin.

Keith’s gaze found itself attracted to his hand like a magnet; Lance noticed, coughed nervously, and removed it. The púca secretly mourned its loss.

“Uh, so, Shiro—what’s up with _his_ shifting? I didn’t know you had a lion form. Or a eagle form—that’s pretty sweet too.”

Keith shrugged, grinning. “I dunno, to be honest. Shiro’s always been different—in a good way. He’s less ‘creatures of the night’ and more ‘creatures of the light’, I guess. Probably because he’s Altean. So yeah—instead of black housecat and raven, he has lion and eagle.”

“What forms do you have?” Lance asked. “I mean, obviously none that could rival seal, but I’m sure you have some close seconds.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Is everything a competition with you?”

“Uh, _yeah._ And for the record, I’ve saved your life twice more than you’ve saved mine.”

“Actually, I should have at least one point. I saved you as a goat that day. And you can’t count healing me _and_ killing Haxus. That was one incident!”

“You counted it as twice yourself, Mullet Head. Afterwards, even, when you weren’t drugged on pain.” He paused. “And the goat thing can’t count! Someone would’ve found me, eventually.”

“Yeah, your corpse,” Keith scoffed. “The forest is flooded with Galra, Lance, and you had a broken ankle and food poisoning.”

“Both of which were _your_ fault.”

“Oh, come on—”

Hunk stepped over, placing a hand on both boys’ shoulders. “Now, now, ladies, you’re both beautiful.” He grinned. “Seriously, guys, calm down. I’m sure whatever you’re fighting over is incredibly significant—except I think the exact opposite. So stop.”

Keith and Lance glared at each other for two whole seconds before Lance broke out in a grin. “Okay, fine. It’s 2–1. I’ll extend my lead sometime, anyhow.” Keith was about to reply when Lance interrupted. “Anyway, you were about to answer what forms you have?”

Keith nodded in agreement; he didn’t know Hunk all that well, and he figured he should stay on his good side and stop arguing with his best friend. “Uh, goblin. Cat, like you saw. Goat, bunny. Dog, wolf, raven. Fox, though I don’t use it often. Horse.”

Lance’s eyes lit up with an idea, and Keith braced himself. “Can you give me another ride sometime? It was—it was honestly pretty cool, though I was pretty sure my head was going to get whacked off by a branch. Have you heard of slowing down, man?” Hunk raised his eyebrows, probably curious about the whole situation behind Keith the Horse letting Lance ride on his back.

“Nope, nuh-uh.”

“But you did it before!”

“I don’t ‘give rides’ unless it’s life or death or you’re moving too goddamn slowly when we needed to be going much faster.”

Keith saw the instant Lance went into pleading mode from the gleam in his eye, and sighed internally. Shiro wasn’t exactly as… enthusiastic as Lance, but he had spent a good deal of time bargaining with Keith. The trouble was, Keith almost always gave in.

“I’ll let you ride on my back!”

“Pretty sure I wouldn’t fit, unless you’re an elephant seal.”

Lance stage-gasped; Hunk snorted, laughing into his hand. “How dare you, you—you mullet-headed barnyard animal!”

“Quick question,” Hunk inserted. “I’m really enjoying this, because I haven’t heard Lance pointlessly argue with anyone this much, _ever,_ but do all of his insults have to do with your hair?”

Keith shrugged. “Pretty much. He’s not the most creative.”

“Excuse you! I am _very_ creative! The most creative!”

“The mostest, yes, I’m sure,” Hunk placated. “Alright, you can continue. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Okay, but still. You can just hold on, and I’ll pull you along. C’mon!”

“No, not doing it.” Keith could only imagine what Shiro’s reaction would be if he heard this particular conversation.

“Pleeeease?” Lance was openly begging now, his eyes wide and blue and shining, his mouth curved into a smile, and Keith felt his resolve crumbling. Even Shiro’s pleading had never been this effective; Keith cursed those big blue eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “When all this is over. Not now.”

“Yes!” Lance cheered, pumping his fists in the air. Keith for a second considered it might have been a little bit worth it; then he caught Hunk looking at him staring at Lance and quickly glanced away, huffing. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Hunk huffed a chuckle. “Okay, while this conversation has enlightened me to several things,” he said, shooting a glance at Lance, “I still barely know you, Keith. Do you—”

“Oh, introduction games!” Lance interrupted. Hunk gave Keith an exasperated look, and Keith chuckled. “I wish would could get Pidge but we probably shouldn’t leave the bridge. Should we—uh—ask Allura?”

Keith shook his head sharply, mirth gone. “I think we all know each other pretty well, besides me and Hunk. And Pidge, of course.”

“Alright,” Hunk agreed. “So, Lance, I assume you have a plan?”

“Trust me, Hunk, I’m phenomenal with icebreakers.”

Keith turned to the golem and dead-panned, “In the forest, when we had just met for real, he asked me for, and I quote, my favorite color, animal, and evil overlord.”

Hunk burst out laughing, and Keith grinned with him; Hunk had a warm laugh, deep and akin to a strong hug. “Yep, that sounds like Lance.”

Lance rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath. “You guys get along great for fae that barely know each other. But anyway, let’s play Two Truths and a Lie! That’s a great icebreaker game!”

Hunk groaned. “Not this again.” Lance shot him a glare and he sighed. “Alright, alright, we’ll play. But just until Shiro gets back.”

Confused, Keith asked, “Two Truths and a Lie?”

Lance gasped, comically loud. “You’ve never played Two Truths? What, have you been living under a rock for the past hundred years?”

“More like living under a rock for the past three and asleep for the ten thousand before that, but yes, basically.”

Lance wasn’t deterred. “Okay, point taken. But the rules are really simple! We each take turns saying three things about ourselves. Two of them are true, one’s a lie; they can be in any order. The other two fae have to take try and guess the lie.”

Keith nodded. “Okay. Do you want to start?”

Lance grinned. “How about this: I’ve had a girlfriend; I’ve fallen asleep in the ocean before and almost floated out to sea; my favorite place in the world is the beach outside my house.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lance, that’s too easy.”

“It’s not his fault Keith doesn’t know me as well as you do; I’m trying to make it fairer for him!”

“Of course you are.”

“Hunk…”

Hunk just laughed as Keith looked on in bewilderment. “You can guess first, Keith.”

“Um, the first one? About the girlfriend?” The other two were both about the ocean, and seemed likelier to be true. He didn’t _think_ Lance had a girlfriend…

Hunk snorted. “The first one, Lance.”

The selkie huffed. “Fine, you’re both right.”

“He hasn’t had a boyfriend, either, if you’re wondering.”

“Hunk!” Lance exclaimed, blushing furiously. The golem shrugged innocently. “He didn’t need to know that.”

Keith smirked. “I could’ve guessed. I can’t see anyone being patient enough to deal with you longer than a first date. They’d have to be deaf.”

Lance glared. “If anyone wanted to date you, they’d have to be an idiot. And blind.”

Keith knew that the selkie was saying it to get even, but he couldn’t deny that it stung more than a little bit—more than it should’ve, really. “Well—”

“I sense that I’m going to be playing referee for a quite a while, here. Can you both stop?” Lance and Keith nodded mutely, and Hunk continued. “I’ll go next. I’m in love with a rock; I take cooking lessons from Coran; I’m adopted.”

The other two looked at Keith expectantly; he shrugged. “I dunno, the first one?”

“The second one,” Lance replied confidently, and Hunk nodded.

“Sorry, Keith. I have a girlfriend who’s a golem; she came to Altea as a transfer student, from the Balmeran Kingdom. She’s over there on vacation with her family right now. Your turn.”

Keith nodded, thinking. “I went clouding once and got so drunk on magic that I confessed my feelings to a crush; I’ve temporarily shared a body with a raccoon; when I was a kid, my father would have me and Lotor fight in fake gladiator matches. Hunk?”

The golem’s eyes were wide. “Wow, any one of those being true sounds pretty wild. The raccoon one sounds absolutely ridiculous; but that might mean it’s true, unless you’re really bad at this game and don’t grasp the concept of wanting to trick others, and I’m pretty sure you do. Your father is an evil emperor, and Lance said you’re a strong fighter, so the last one’s plausible. And I’ve been clouding before; I can see how if someone was there with a crush, the words could slip out. I’m going to assume that one’s true—I hope it turned out well, by the way—and I’m going to have to go with the raccoon thing. Lance?”

“I don’t exactly have a whole speech about it, but I’m going with the last one.”

“Not the raccoon one?”

Lance grinned. “I happen to have it on a strong authority that Keith once had a transgression with a raccoon. I never heard the details, but figured it was probably true. Keith?”

“Sorry, Hunk; Lance is right.” Lance pumped his fist in the air. “Once a raccoon landed on my head while I was in the middle of shifting. Somehow my magic, instead of noticing the boundary between it and me like it normally does with living creatures, decided to take it along for the ride. I couldn’t shift for a good six hours. Raccoons really like peanuts.”

Hunk was able to stifle his chuckles; Lance wasn’t so lucky, and burst out laughing. “And the gladiator thing? I thought for sure…” Hunk asked, struggling against laughter himself.

Keith rolled his eyes at the chortling selkie before responding. “Zarkon honestly wasn’t a horrible parent when I was really young. It wasn’t until around the war that Haggar’s influence began to corrupt him. By then, I was old enough I could get out of the house—and by that I mean out of the kingdom—when he got into a mood.”

Hunk nodded. “Alright, Lance, your turn again.”

The selkie managed to calm himself down, and started talking. “Uh, I once accidentally adopted a cat; my little sis—”

Two dark shapes caught Keith’s eye, flying toward the skylight. He cast his magic out, ignoring Lance, and sighed in relief. Shiro and Kolivan, from the looks of their cores—he had been half-convinced they were Galra staging an attack.

“Allura, they’re coming,” he called just as an eagle and abnormally large raven flew in and settled on the floor, transforming the minute they hit the ground.

Kolivan was the leader of the Pride of Marmora; solemn, unflinching, and unforgiving, he ruled the Pride with an iron fist, committed to their ideal of knowledge or death. He stood taller than anyone in the room, a head taller even than Shiro and Hunk, and was dark-skinned with white braids. He had a long scar over his right eye, leaving it milky yellow and blind.

Allura stepped forward, as did Kolivan, and they locked eyes for a solid minute.

 _They’re trying to decide if they really want this alliance,_ Keith realized. _If the other faerie is strong enough to work with._

The staring contest finally broke with a nod from Kolivan; Allura nodded back, and the meeting started.

Keith sighed with relief. If Allura would work with a Galran organization, it suggested that her scars didn’t run deeper than her sense of duty.

Maybe one day, her sense of friendship would no longer be shadowed by the scars.

* * *

 

All Lance really wanted to do was run out of the room and check on Pidge and Adrian. He needed to tell Pidge about the curse, that they had been right, what it did. She might’ve been one of its victims, shivering and ill and weak, but that wouldn’t keep her formidable mind from attacking the problem with everything she had.

Adrian… he didn’t want to tell Adrian. He didn’t really want to tell any of his family, for fear they’d go out of their minds with worry. Further out of their minds, at least. But he knew he had to; it’d be dishonest not to, and he’d already kept far too many secrets from them. The guilt had been eating him alive, was still gnawing on him; it would be a relief to come clean.

But for now, he couldn’t leave, even though he felt useless. Kolivan, Coran, and Allura had a far greater grasp on wartime strategy than he did—even Shiro had stepped up as part of the conversation, talking to the three older fae on equal ground. They didn’t whisper—an attempt to include everyone—but Lance couldn’t help but feel out of his depth. Did he enjoy strategy games, even do well at them? Yeah, but a board game was a lot different than an actual battlefield. Real fae, real kingdoms, real magic, real deaths. Nothing about that was a game.

Still, he tried to pay attention, which was more than Keith was doing—the púca was a fidgeting mess, twirling his knife between his fingers, miraculously managing to not burn himself, tapping his foot, doing anything but watching the four other fae strategize. Hunk looked overwhelmed but was also trying to keep up with the conversation.

“—the Galran forces are spread thin throughout the forest,” Kolivan was saying. “There are many, but the forest is large, and the only clusters are at specific bases and the capital, of course. It will be difficult to successfully eradicate the Galran presence.”

“Unless we can destroy the core,” Allura said with a weariness that suggested that she’d made the point many times before. “If we destroy the core, it doesn’t matter where the Galra are; they will die.”

Kolivan replied, equally weary, “It doesn’t matter where the Galra are, indeed. And that will cause all of my Lions to perish. Kogane as well. I will not allow an entire race to go extinct because of a single bad influence that’s corrupted the rest.”

“I agree, but—”

“He’s right, Queen,” Coran interjected. “We can’t let the innocent die just to kill the guilty. Many of the Galra working under Zarkon aren’t even working of their own free will.”

“And even if there weren’t innocent lives on the line, could we truly manage to destroy the core? It would take an enormous magical force, nothing short of an army.”

“I believe I have enough magical force to destroy the core if it comes down to it,” Allura said, something flickering in her gaze that Lance couldn’t quite place—there was something she wasn’t saying, and it scared him.

Kolivan fixed her with a stare. “Which it won’t.”

“Kolivan, I respect your loyalty to your kingdom, but your empress is trying to destroy mine. I cannot allow that to happen. If I were to be cursed, which, given enough time, I most certainly will be, an entire kingdom’s worth of magic will be handed over to Haggar. She’ll be impossible to defeat—and we all know she won’t stop at Altea. Balmera, Baku, Olkari—they’ll all fall.” Her voice softened. “I don’t want to destroy your kingdom, just the corrupted magic that lives inside it. I see no better way.”

Shiro had been staring off into space, brow furrowed, but now he interjected. “Is there a way that we can destroy the core, but not the fae? Then Haggar would be powerless, but the innocent wouldn’t die.”

Something Shiro said nudged something else in Lance’s brain, tingling with a kind of urgency. An urgency Lance couldn’t decipher; one of Shiro’s suggestions was very important… but what was it?

The queen straightened, eyes brightening. “That’s the kind of solution we need. But is it possible?”

“I find that the things most fae say are impossible,” Coran said, “are often possible for a faerie who bothers to try.”

Kolivan growled. “But this, unfortunately, is not one of them. Destroying the core destroys the magic, which destroys the fae. It might take a day or so to die by magic starvation, but they will die. It’s one of the oldest codes of the fae; a faerie without magic cannot live.”

The niggling in his brain grew stronger, more pronounced. He was missing something obvious, something that could possibly save the war effort. If only he could figure it out; it felt like he had figured out the puzzle but the box was missing pieces.

“Yes, but is there even possibly a way they could survive? Humans are magicless—some believe them to be the descendants of fae who for some reason lost their magic. If we could just—”

Lance had been half-listening, staring at the gleam of Keith’s knife as he fiddled with it, when the answer struck him like a bolt of lightning.

_“—enormous magical force—”_

_“—I have enough—”_

_“—be cursed—”_

_“—an entire kingdom’s worth of magic will be handed over—”_

_“—the core, but not the fae—”_

_“—a day or so to die—”_

_“—a faerie without magic—”_

The core magic within all fae; its connection to the kingdom; the need for kingdoms and their cores; Shiro’s suggestion; Allura’s power; Keith’s knife. The final piece of the puzzle—Lance clicked it into place and whooped aloud.

Everyone turned to him, faces ranging from mild confusion to annoyance to outright curiosity, and Hunk asked, “What is it? Lance?” He started talking faster as he got excited, the expression on Lance’s face telling him everything he needed to know. “Do you have it? Did you think of something?”

Lance nodded excitedly, looking to the four conferring fae in the center, all of whom were looking back at him. He walked over, Hunk and Keith trailing behind. “My dearest queen Allura? Would you mind if I stole your spotlight?”

She grinned slightly. “Of course not, noble subject,” she declared regally, in a tone of voice she reserved specifically for speeches and bantering with Lance. “But seriously, selkie, hurry it up.”

Lance grinned, the thrill of figuring out a possible solution sending his mood soaring. “Yeah, yeah. Okay—so here’s the idea. Allura has tons and tons of magic—more than most royalty has, because she’s been directly linked to the core rather than supervising it externally. Only Haggar has as much power as she does, probably because she’s been directly linked to _her_ core as well. And what has Haggar been doing?”

“Being a rotten parent?” Keith grumbled under his breath, but not quiet enough for Lance to miss. He stifled a chuckle and the púca grinned at him, ears reddening slightly.

Kolivan rolled his eyes; Lance hadn’t yet seen him display any sort of emotion besides stoic solemnity, so even the exasperation of an eyeroll was a first. “Cursing the Alteans. Turning them Galra, from what you say of the curse.”

Lance brightened, making a conscious effort to keep from bouncing up and down on his toes. “Exactly! So, in theory, if Haggar cursed all the Alteans, they all turned Galra, and then she destroyed Altea’s core, the Alteans would live. Because they still had magic.”

Allura’s eyes flew wide, followed by the others as they each caught on to Lance’s plan.

“Oh! Oh my gosh, Lance, that’s genius!” She was beaming, her eyes shining, and in her excitement she leaned over and pecked Lance on the cheek—his eyes flew wide and he grinned. “If we link the Galra to the Altean core, they’ll survive until we can find another alternative!”

Lance nodded. “We can link the Lions now, if Kolivan is willing to bring them all into Altea—after you destroy the core, we’ll have a day or so to find all the Galra who weren’t willingly working for Zarkon. The Pride can help identify them, and we can bring them to Altea. You and Coran both have plenty of magic to spare, besides.”

Shiro was grinning as well, eyes alight with hope for the first time Lance had seen him, and even Kolivan had cracked a slight smile. “I can’t see anything flawed with the selkie’s logic,” the Lion said. “While no plan can be full-proof, this one seems to have a high chance of success.”

Coran was grinning wide—partly with victory, but mostly with pride. He clapped Lance on the back, briefly hugging him and whispering, “Well done, my boy. Well done.” The selkie beamed under the praise, returning the embrace and trying not to tear up.

“—end for the other Lions after we conclude the meeting,” Kolivan was saying. “Queen Allura, if you would transfer a bit of your energy into us, the sooner we can start on the second phase. It will also give us more flexibility, if Haggar strikes sooner than we expected. Are we agreed?”

Allura dipped her head in both a nod and a show of respect. “Yes, we are. Thank you, Lance, for your invaluable idea—feel free to join us next time we need to strategize.”

Lance gaped. “Uh, it’s no problem, Allura. And wow, thanks.”

She smiled. “You deserve it. Now, can we declare this mission adjourned? I’ll wait here for the Lions, but the rest of you can wander the Castle—provided the púca stay in animal form in any unsecured areas.”

Everyone chorused their agreement, and she nodded. “Then this meeting has concluded. I’ll call you all back when we need to move forward, or if something important comes up. Thank you for all the hard work you’ve put it in, and have a good evening.”

Hunk caught up to Lance, grinning. “Lance, that was awesome! I knew you had a head for strategy—” the golem coughed, muttering, _“because you beat me at that game every time we play—_ but I never thought you would manage to pull a full war strategy out of your head when all of the experienced leaders were struggling. Amazing job, man.”

Lance was too ecstatic to be humble; just this once he figured he could own up to what he did. “I know! I actually can’t believe it! I was just looking at Keith’s knife and then it hit me—the blade is like a mini kingdom. It would sustain a faerie if their kingdom fell. So why couldn’t _we_ sustain fae if their kingdom fell?”

Hunk smile was wide and warm. “That’s incredible. I’m so proud, Lance.” Lance grinned, basking in the high of victory, reveling in the one moment where he actually felt accomplished, like he was worth more than he’d thought before.

The golem looked away, momentarily distracted, and then said, “Ah, Coran’s calling me. I dunno what for, but talk to you later?”

“Sounds good. D’you know where Pidge and Adrian are?”

The previous excitement on Hunk’s face was now mixed in with concern. “Yeah. You know the statue of the centaur?”

“The rooms down that hallway?”

“Yep. Last two on your left. Pidge is first, then Adrian.”

“Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem,” the golem said as he shot Lance one last troubled look. “See you.”

“Bye.”

They parted ways, Lance walking out of the bridge, down the passageways to the marble centaur, and down that hallway. He paused outside of what should be Pidge’s door, drawing in a deep breath.

_I’m going to have to tell her. To tell them both. They deserve to know._

_But there’s hope. Right? In theory, killing Haggar_ should _remove the curse. And it if doesn’t, at least we won’t have the Galra breathing down our necks. We’ll cure them._

_I just—_

“Lance. G—get your butt in—in here.”

Pidge’s voice shocked him into action, and he entered the room.

It was dark, with only a few ghostlights as lighting. She was twirling one with her finger—it was pale purple. The rest were sickly green, and glowing faintly. Even with the poor lighting, Lance could see that the pixie wasn’t doing well.

She was lying on a plain white cot, akin to a hospital bed; her eyes were open, but slightly unfocused and cloudy. Her eyelids drooped; her forehead shone; she was ghostly pale. Her breathing was slow, labored, like it was painful to draw in air. Even her normally brilliant wings had lost their luster, lying limp and dull at her sides, partially covered by sheets.

He snapped his fingers and all of the ghostlights turned blue and glowed brighter, and he sat in the chair next to Pidge’s bed. “Hey there, Pidgeon,” he said softly. “How are you?”

She smirked wryly. “B—been bet—ter. Where’ve y—you been?”

“Uh, solving all your problems, befriending enemy species, being a genius, the usual.” Lance grinned, hoping that enough fake bravado and humor would get him through the conversation without crying. He hated to see his friends hurt. This? This was a nightmare.

Pidge coughed out a laugh. “I buy all of th—ose… e—except for the geniu—s thing.”

“Hey!” Pidge just laughed. “We can’t all be prodigies.”

She rolled her eyes—that, at least, she had the energy to do. “My dee—pest apologies. C—continue?”

“Oh, yeah. So after you got cursed yesterday, I went to find Keith this morning, and—”

“H—hold up. Keith?”

It occured to Lance that Pidge had missed… basically everything, really. She hadn’t even met Keith, or Shiro, or learned for sure that the curse was a curse.

“Umm… remember that goat that saved me that day? And the bunny with the blackberries, that caused me to get sick in the first place?”

The pixie nodded weakly.

“That’s Keith.”

Pidge burst out laughing—or wheezing, as the case was.

“Alright, alright—could you stop? I think you’re about to cough your lungs out.”

“I—I just—” She chuckled, wiping at a tear. “I w—was right. A—a fuc—”

“Okay. We get it. Are you going to let me continue?”

Pidge managed to calm herself down, her coughs subsiding, and nodded, blinking up at him with innocent eyes. Lance gave her an unimpressed look; those pure eyes of innocence would only fool you once in your life. Afterwards, you knew all too well to steer clear.

“Okay. _Anyway,_ the goat was Keith, as we’ve established. He’s a broody, kinda emo, stubborn, annoying púca with a mullet and a death wish. A púca’s the Galra species, by the way. Shapeshifters—they have a bunch of forms.”

“I know.”

“Wha—how? Did Allura tell you? Hunk? Coran?”

She shook her head slightly. “N—no. I loo—ked in the old re—cords. C—coran sh—owed me. Read a lot. About Dai—Daibazaal. Haggar. The K—Komar Cur—se.”

Lance did a double take. “The what now?”

She cracked a grin that faded quickly. “W—who’s the gen—ius now?”

“Okay, Pidgey, no unnecessary talking. Just give me the important stuff.”

The pixie nodded. The ease at which she gave in, not making one last smart aleck remark or even rolling her eyes, scared him. “The Komar C—curse. Rea—lly bad. Ha—ggar’s w—work. Re—repla—” She got caught in a fit of coughing, her eyelids drooping closed after it passed. “I—”

“No—no, Pidgeon, stay with me,” Lance murmured, gently patting her cheek. “C’mon. I still have stuff to tell you. You can’t go to sleep on me now.”

She grumbled, but forced her eyes back open. “Sc—screw you. The cur—se, it p—uts Galra c—core—”

“Shh…” Lance murmured. “Yeah, that’s the curse. We didn’t have its name, though, so thank you for that. Did you find any other relevant information?”

She shook her head. “Sor—ry, Lance.”

“No, don’t be sorry. _I’m_ the one that’s sorry you’re stuck like this. We’ll figure it out though—we have a plan for destroying Haggar and the Galran core.”

Pidge opened her mouth to respond, but Lance cut her off with a finger to her lips. “No, I’ll talk. Save your questions for the end. Here’s what happened—I met Keith in the forest. We were enemies at first—I stabbed him with that Olkari knife—but then we evolved into tentative allies, and maybe almost friends now? I don’t really know. He’s kinda hard to read.

“But, skipping all the details like how I killed a Galra—I said _skipping those,_ calm down Pidge, I’ll tell you later—basically right after you got sick, I went to him to see if he knew anything. He’d actually know more than most—I didn’t know at the time, but Haggar’s his mother—”

Pidge’s eyebrows flew up into her hair. “A p—prince?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah, he’s a prince. I get the feeling he hates the title though, so please don’t call him that. Anyway, I mentioned Hunk’s mom’s prophecy, and he was like ‘wait I know that guy!’ So we figured out Shiro, Keith’s adopted brother, was being held captive under the Castle. We grabbed Hunk and came to rescue him, yadda yadda yadda, we learn what the curse does, Allura catches us, rips into Keith, reveals he’s a prince.”

The pixie made a surprised noise, but before she could elaborate on it Lance explained. “Oh, yeah—the Galra were put to sleep for 10,000 years instead of being destroyed. Haggar did it—that’s why she’s so powerful. So Keith is 10,000 years old, and apparently he knew Allura? I’m not too clear on that, but I think they were friends and she thinks he betrayed her, which he totally did _not_ but it’s understandable why she thinks so. And she’s about to throw him in jail when we plead the púca’s cases and she lets them go.

“We meet on the bridge, and Shiro goes and gets the leader of the Pride of Marmora, a rebel Galra group, and I help come up with this awesome plan to destroy the core but save the innocents. Allura’s going to link all of the free, non-corrupted Galra rebels to Altea with just a little bit of her excess Altean core magic, so they’ll be okay when she attacks the core. Then we’ll comb through the kingdom and save the ones who weren’t directly part of it—we might save the guilty too, just throw them in jail. I dunno for sure.”

Pidge was staring at him with wide eyes. “What? Do you think that’s a bad idea? Are there obvious problems? Pidge, talk to me!”

“ _Now_ l—ook who wa—wants me to talk.”

“C’mon, Pidgey.”

“No, L—Lance… it’s act—ually really s—smart. The hon—honest tru—th.” Her eyes slipped close again, and this time Lance didn’t try to keep her awake.

He smiled softly, sadly, reaching out to tousle her hair. “Thanks, Pidgeon. G’night.”

“‘Night, Lance,” she mumbled before drifting off into troubled sleep. He gently pulled off her glasses, folding them and putting them on the bedside table.

The selkie stood up quietly, dimmed the ghostlights, and walked out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. He still had one more stop to make; this one would be even more painful.

He took a deep breath and walked into Adrian’s room.

It was even darker than Pidge’s—there were fewer ghostlights, all of them purple-black except for one, held aloft and glowing bright yellow-white over Calista’s head. Lance sighed; might as well tell them both at once.

Adrian didn’t appear too much physically worse, but it was clear he was suffering and his magic was changing in excruciatingly painful ways. He managed a smile when he saw Lance but it fell right back into shallow breathing—Lance was honestly just surprised he was awake.

Calista shot him a concerned look, one that Lance returned with what he hoped was a reassuring expression. “Hey, Lance.”

“Hey, Cali. Hey, Adrian.” He settled on the bed next to his brother. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough,” Adrian murmured. “Weak. Wrong.” His voice wasn’t interspersed with coughing and harsh breathing, like Pidge’s—it was just low, small, feeble. Like his lungs no longer had the energy to even cough.

“I…. I have good news, and bad news.”

“Give us the bad news,” Adrian muttered. Calista nodded her agreement “Bad news first.”

Lance winced; the bad news was going to be awfully hard to recover from. “Alright. Well, it turns out, Adrian—you’re not sick.”

His brother wheezed; it might’ve been a chuckle. “Really?”

“Ah, yeah, you’re not—you’re just cursed. A Galran curse, to be specific.”

“Galran?” Cali’s voice was shocked, loud. She was normally much quieter; the strain of the past week had gotten to her, too, just in ways less obvious. “What the hell are you talking about, Lance?”

The selkie cringed. This was going about as well as he had expected; tact was not always his forte. He wasn’t as blunt as Keith, heaven forbid, but this would be a prickly subject for even the most silver-tongued diplomat to spin. “The Galra are still alive; have been, in fact, for the past 10,000 years. I’ll give you the quick and dirty version—the old queen, Haggar, messed around with core magic. She corrupted their kingdom’s core, turning all the innocent Galra dark. Then the war happened, and Alfor tried to destroy the core. We thought they had; really, Haggar had just absorbed the core magic and put her subjects to sleep for 10,000 years.

“They woke up very recently, with a plan to capture Altea. They’re using this curse to do it—cursing fae to turn Galra, to turn dark. Eventually, she’ll get enough power from us to curse Allura, and the kingdom will fall. We think you were one of the first targets because of your aptitude for core magic; same with Pidge, though any of us and all of us are in danger from it.”

Adrian and Calista were staring at him with wide eyes. “And the… good news?” Cali squeaked.

“Not all Galra are evil!” Lance exclaimed brightly, trying to compensate for the bad news with over-enthusiasm. “I actually have a sort-of-friend who’s a Galra—by the way, Galra isn’t the species, just the race. Most Galran fae are púca, shapeshifters, though not all púca are Galran—right, I’m getting off track.

“It’s because of a particular Galra that we figured out the curse, but that’s not important right now—what is important is that there’s an entire rebel organization of Galra, and we’ve figured out a plan to take down Haggar, which should break the curse.”

“‘Should’?” Adrian asked quietly.

“‘Should,’” Lance agreed, softly. “I don’t know—I can’t know for sure, but I do know that I’m not going to rest until we find a cure. Alright, Adrian? Cali? I am not giving up on you guys. Never.”

Calista met Lance’s gaze with tears in her brown eyes, and Lance opened his arms. His sister threw herself into him, clutching him with the strength of a bear. The selkie returned the embrace, ruffling Adrian’s hair with his free hand and rubbing Cali’s back with the other. He sometimes forgot she was only eight; she was so mature, in the way she handled herself and the way she saw the world, and he didn’t always realize how much was being placed on her shoulders for such a young girl.

He wished it didn’t have to be this way, as cliché as the sentiment sounded.

But wishes rarely came true.

Calista finally pulled away, swiping at her eyes. “So, Adrian’s under a horrible curse?” Lance bobbed his head. “One we might all fall under if Haggar wins?” Another nod. “And there’s a plan currently in place? Under Allura?” He nodded again.

“Well, it looks like I’m going to have to go volunteer for the war effort, brothers,” she said, smiling. Her eyes were still puffy, but completely dry, and determined. Even if Lance had wanted to stop her, he knew he couldn’t—though logically he knew she wouldn’t be in any danger, just helping Allura and Coran with odd jobs. Regardless, their own mother would be hard pressed to stop Calista from doing something she had her heart set on. “Wish me luck.”

She leaned down and kissed Adrian’s forehead, and hugged Lance one last time, before heading out the door with a quick salute and a grin.

His heart squeezed as he watched her go, and it contracted again as he looked down at the struggling boy on the bed who was still fighting for life, despite it all.

Lance smiled.

He was so, so proud.

* * *

 

Keith watched Lance leave the bridge, lost in thought and not really paying attention to his surroundings—until Shiro clapped a hand on his shoulder, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. “Whatcha thinking about, little brother?” Shiro asked, a wicked grin in place that suggested that he might have an idea of his own.

Keith flushed, scowling. “How glad I was to be rid of you for a whole year. Too bad you had to show up again and wreck it.”

Shiro laughed; Keith basked in the sound, deep and warm and so _Shiro._ Despite what he teased, he was incredibly glad to have his brother back. “Well, I’m sorry to ruin the fun. D’you want to go somewhere and talk? Catch up? Just like old times?”

Keith nodded, grinning. “That’d be great.”

A few minutes later, they had found a quiet, out-of-the-way room and locked it, settling down into the chairs. Keith was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up—at least, until he saw the gleeful spark in Shiro’s eye. Then he had to fight his instinct to bolt.

“So…” Shiro smirked, making it clear Keith was not getting out of this one. “I thought you hated being touched in animal form. As in, a strict no-touch rule.”

“That is true,” Keith replied stiffly. “But sometimes I may be forced to make exceptions.”

“Mhm.”

“Shut up, Shiro.”

“You seemed pretty hurt when he got mad at you, you know. I’ve seen entire groups of fae get pissed off at you and you didn’t bat an eye.”

“Shut up, Shiro.”

“And you were pretty smiley when he talked to you afterwards in the cell. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that smiley.”

“Shut it, Shiro!”

His brother held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Woah, calm down, Keith. No harm meant. I was just pointing out some things I’d noticed.”

“Yeah, well…” Keith sighed. “I dunno, Shiro, he’s just… he’s just _Lance,_ y’know?”

“Given that I have known of his existence for about an hour, no, I don’t, but I’m willing to go along with it. Keep talking.”

Keith, lost in thought, barely registered what Shiro had said. “He’s—he’s an asshole, really. And super annoying, and loud. He talks twenty-four seven. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even shut up in his sleep. He’s always trying to one-up me, like we’re rivals or something. Everything is a competition.”

“Keith, you’re pretty competitive yourself—”

“And he has the most irritating smirk I’ve ever seen. He’s infuriating. I don’t know how I put up with him.”

“And yet…” Shiro’s prompting spurred Keith on before he could stop himself, and once he started, it was far too late.

“And yet he’s beautiful, and funny, and smart. He’s brave. He’s saved my life twice now, at his own expense. He worries about his family; he loves them. Same for his friends. You should hear the way he talks about Hunk and Pidge, and his brothers and sisters. He makes them sound like the best fae in the world, because in his mind, they are. He’s so loyal; sensitive, too, but level-headed. He basically figured out the plan to take down Haggar today all by himself. His smile is so bright and so’s his laugh and his eyes are so blue and I could drown in them. I—” Keith groaned. “Screw it, Shiro, I don’t know what to do.”

Shiro was staring at him, half stunned, half amused. “Wow, that was a lot more stored up inside of you than I thought. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

Keith blushed bright red. “I—I just—” he grumbled. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Well, I for one was definitely not expecting to be released from my prison by my little brother, the guy my little brother’s got a painfully obvious crush on, and their nervous-but-talented friend. I was hoping for something a bit more… likely to succeed.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Keith scoffed, batting Shiro on the shoulder.

“Barely,” Shiro replied. “I did almost get new cellmates, though.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. If it’s not too much—what _did_ happen during your stay in the dungeons?”

Shiro grimaced, rubbing his bad arm, a habit he’d grown into after the war. “Well, it wasn’t nearly as bad as my time in Haggar’s clutches.”

“A very low bar, but continue.”

Shiro cracked a faint grin before continuing. “The food—bowls upon bowls of green goo—wasn’t great, but it was pretty nutritious and I never felt like I was wasting away. The accommodations weren’t _awful;_ I had a decent cot, a small toilet, a bookshelf with a couple novels on it. Coran was kind to me, expanding my cell slightly so I had more room to workout. All in all, it wasn’t terrible—not optimal, but not terrible.”

“Why did you even get captured in the first place? What happened?”

“I had a dream one night; a really bad one. I think I told you about it—the one where Allura turns dark. And I knew I had to do something, so I just left. I should’ve— _said_ something, but I was afraid you’d ask questions I couldn’t answer. When I got to Altea, Allura had me thrown in the dungeons on the spot. She only saw the Galran magic in me, and wouldn’t listen to my pleas—which I suppose is fair. She’s suffered at the hands of the Galra before, been betrayed by them before. If I were in her shoes, I wouldn’t listen to me either.

“So I sat, and waited. Occasionally prophetic dreams would come to me, though the stone did an excellent job of dampening my magic. Mostly I just had to deal with nightmares.”

Keith winced in sympathy; he couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be held in captivity for years, tortured to an inch of your sanity, freed, and then thrown back into another prison. It’d be enough to give anyone nightmares.

“What about you?” Shiro asked, quickly changing the subject. “What did you do while I was gone?”

“I was… angry,” Keith said carefully. “Impatient. The Pride refused to stage a rescue mission for you, so I left them. I moved into that cave where we’d stashed some stuff, and continued hitting Galra facilities in search of you. I heard rumors of a lone prisoner in one—I thought that was you for sure. It wasn’t, but I did free the prisoner there. A satyr by the name of Matt, he’s been living with me for the past half year.

“He was also subjected to Galra experimentation. I’d assume the curse, but he doesn’t seem to be showing many side effects. Maybe some other of Haggar’s schemes. Matt is Pidge’s brother—Lance is one of Pidge’s best friends.”

“She’s one of the cursed,” Shiro replied, nodding.

“Mhm. But Matt didn’t want anyone to know he was free, because he was afraid after being tampered with by the Galra, he might hurt them. He didn’t know what they’d done, but he was deathly afraid it was something, and something horrible.”

Shiro stared down at his dark-veined arm, flexing the hand as if he’d never used it before. “I know the feeling,” he whispered, and Keith instantly felt guilty. He’d never really considered that Shiro was still afraid of his arm—afraid that maybe, what Haggar had done would bring him to hurt the ones he loved.

They sat in silence for a minute more before Shiro looked up, the shadows in his eyes fought back for now. “What else? Lance said something about Haxus?”

Keith grimaced. “Yeah. I didn’t provoke the fight, I swear—I was going for a run when he attacked me out of the blue. He didn’t quite catch me off guard, but I barely shifted in time. We exchanged a few threats, something about Sendak wanting me, the usual garbage, and then we fought. He was strong—stronger than I remember, faster and more agile. I gave him a couple good wounds but he had me pinned to a tree, about to rip my throat out.

“I swear, Shiro, I thought I was dead. I had burns, bad cuts, broken bones, and Haxus was about to end it. But then a knife came out of nowhere, skewered Haxus through the neck, and then Lance ran up to me, shouting and frantic. He helped me shift back, and spent hours healing me. I was a total mess, and yet he sat there for ages with his herbs and medicines and bandaged me up and waited as I slept it off.”

Shiro’s eyebrows rose. “Wow, Keith, that’s… I see why you like him. For that matter, _he_ probably—”

Keith raised his hands quickly, cutting Shiro off. “Nope, nope, don’t want to hear it. Maybe these… feelings will just… go away, and I won’t have to deal with the embarrassment.”

Shiro sighed. “But I’m pretty sure—”

“No, Shiro, stop.”

His brother took a deep breath and nodded. Keith didn’t know quite _why_ he was so positive Lance didn’t, couldn’t like him—why he just wanted to move on and forget this whole unfortunate crush business, but he was dead set on it. Hearing reassurances, no matter how much Shiro based them in fact, sounded flimsy—like a shelf you set your hopes on but it cracks and falls under the weight.

“How’ve your spells been?” Shiro asked, thankfully changing the subject. “You haven’t had one so far. That’s good, right?”

Keith nodded, then flushed. “Uh, they were alright when you left. Matt’s adept in core magic—he’s been able to force me out of them, so my magic settles and I stay in whatever form, but it hurts. Just today, though—God, it feels like a lifetime ago—I figured out that Lance can… calm my magic. If we’re in contact, he can make my shifting easier, basically. And he can help me shift even right after a spell.”

“I guess I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore, right?” Shiro asked, chuckling. “What can’t Lance do?”

Keith couldn’t keep himself from smiling slightly, something his brother didn’t miss but thankfully didn’t call him out on.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, when Shiro clapped his thighs, standing up. “Thanks for talking with me, Keith. I want to go back to the bridge, see what’s going on with the Pride. They should probably be here soon.”

Keith nodded. “I’m just glad I could talk to you. The first time in a year.”

“Thanks for not giving up on me.”

“Never.”

Shiro smiled gently and opened the door, shifting to a dog and padding out of the room.

As Keith watched him leave, he knew something else he had to do. Something painful.

. . .

Twenty minutes later, he was up on Altea’s mountainside. He knew Allura probably didn’t want him leaving the Castle—but he also knew that her first guess to where he was would be up here. She’d find him if she wanted to. And given the fact that she probably wanted to stay as far away from him as possible, he didn’t think he was going to have any trouble.

The sun was setting as he walked up the mountainside, setting the sky afire in a wash of red. It was beautiful, Keith thought, and appropriate. Very appropriate.

He was taking the path up to the old observatory—one he’d memorized by heart. It was easier to find by air, but Keith didn’t have the heart to shift into a raven. He hadn’t flown in 10,000 years—the memories it brought back were too painful, too joyful at the time and too heart-rending now.

Keith had used to be a creature of the air and wind and flight; he wasn’t anymore.

He stopped at the end of the faint trail, staring out at where the observatory had used to stand—a slightly raised portion of ground. Just a hill, nothing more. The brook was babbling nearby; he could feel ghostlights gathering in a spawn on the ground; the glade was small, secluded, beautiful; there was a perfect view of the sky, which burned with him.

But the building was gone.

Keith wouldn’t let himself cry; he _wouldn’t._ It was just a _building._ It meant _nothing._

His face was wet before he knew what had happened.

The place he had spent so many nights with Myrddin; where they would sit, under the stars, just talking; their favorite place, _their_ place. This ghostlight spawn was where he’d confessed—the rooftop was where they’d shared their first kiss. This was the spot where he’d fallen in love, and it had been destroyed.

Keith was on his knees, in front of the small hill; he hadn’t remembered running there, nor his legs giving out. And he was crying, crying for what he’d lost, the fact that it still sent pangs through his chest, the fact that after three years the hurt still hadn’t gone away.

 _I’d known he was gone before,_ Keith thought. _I’d been sure. But I’d still allowed one tiny part of me to hope._

_When Allura… when Allura said he was gone, that part died. I guess that’s why I’m still mourning._

It was just all so fresh; Keith had been trapped in the forest before. He hadn’t had to see Altea again; he hadn’t walked the walls of the Castle, so familiar and yet foreign without the phoenix by his side; he hadn’t talked to Allura or Coran; he hadn’t seen the million things that reminded him of what he’d lost.

And the day Myrddin died, Keith had lost more than just him. He’d lost one of his childhood best friends; he’d lost Allura.

Because there was no way she’d ever, ever forgive him. And Keith couldn’t blame her. He’d caused her beloved immortal cousin’s death. His family had caused her father’s. Who would even _want_ to forgive?

He wept, and wept, and wept. Maybe it was a good thing the observatory was gone; it would’ve brought back too many memories.

His most recent dream floated through his head, and he allowed it to flow over him, the twisted irony of it, the cruelness of fate.

Keith had lived. Myrddin had died.

And it was his fault.

His body heaved with sobs, until he was retching up bile. Finally, he managed to calm, sagging into the grass and not moving, breathing in the scent of the earth. The pocket of magic near the brook pulled at him gently; Keith sat up, wiping the dirt and bile from his face.

His mind had calmed, along with his body; he knew what he needed to do.

Carefully, on legs that were still weak, he made his way over to the spawn, paying no heed to the water from the brook that splashed up against his ankles. His mind was fully concentrated on the pocket of magic; from his count, there were about thirty lights in this cloud.

He nodded. That would work nicely. He reached out with a hand, finger glowing red, and popped the bubble.

Instantly, ghostlights exploded around him, slowing down as they read his mood, some turning red, some turning purple.

He smiled sadly; colors that had been his favorite, colors that now were painful to see reflected back at him. He didn’t change them, though, just sat down and closed his eyes, seeing without seeing, moving the ghostlights with an ease that came naturally to him.

He didn’t try to control them; he let them ride his mood, ride his magic, ride his memories bubbling up inside him. When one burst, the pain of a memory went with it.

They swirled around him, brightening and dimming, shifting colors, shifting speeds. There was no pattern; emotions didn’t follow a pattern. Love didn’t follow a pattern. Pain, regret, grief, loss—all patternless.

Keith embraced it, let it grow within him. He let himself think fully of Myrddin for the first time in 10,000 years. He thought of his beautiful dark skin with an amber and a ruby earring dangling from pointed ears; his warm, red-gold eyes that were always alight with an inner fire; his hands in Keith’s, his soft lips pressing to Keith’s; a passion for exploring, for seeing new things, for meeting new fae, a passion for helping others; a face grinning at him across the throne room during a meeting, trying to get him to laugh and succeeding; sitting on the observatory until the wee hours of the morning; his beautiful avian form, an orange-gold bird that was impossibly graceful in flight; a million other tiny things, a million other memories.

One by one, sitting next to the brook where’d they’d splashed through, next to the observatory they’d spent so many hours in, in the glade where they confessed, the bursting ghostlights gave him one final moment to mourn; he’d spent so much time mourning. As the magic from each one flooded his system, it pushed out the sickly grief that clung to each memory like rot.

 _It will hurt… the memories of him will hurt,_ Keith thought, _maybe always. But I can’t be debilitated every time someone mentions his name, every time I have a nightmare. I need to… I need to move on._

He thought back to the fight with Haxus, when he thought he was about to die and almost gave up. But he hadn’t given up—he had fought to the last, for a single reason.

 _There are fae here,_ now, _that I need to help. That matter to me. I can’t… I have to let go. Not because I’m abandoning him; because I can’t abandon_ them.

There were ten ghostlights left; Keith felt himself shiver and shift, involuntarily. Not because of a spell, though—this was an unconscious need for something.

As Keith ruffled his newly formed feathers, he thought he knew what it was.

He took flight for the first time in millennia; shaky, weak on his wings, but he was flying.

It was glorious, and too agonizing to put into words. A raw weight had shoved itself in his throat, and he couldn’t get it out, just soared and hoped it would dissolve.

He needed to fly, with Myrddin, in this magic and surrounded by his memories, one last time. _Knowing_ it was the last time.

It made it so much more painful.

The ghostlights gathered behind him, forming a tail of red and purple and gold lights, flickering and glowing and bursting, one by one. He flew faster, wilder than he ever had, swooping and soaring with reckless abandon, cawing his lungs out, letting his magic fuel the ghostlights into bursting.

Three left; two left; one left.

Keith settled on the ground, shifted back to faerie, and caught the gold light in his hand just before it burst. He smiled at it, tears shimmering in his eyes that he refused to let fall. “Goodbye, Flame.”

A sense of peace filled him as he stared at the sun slipping behind the horizon. It was temporary tranquility—he still would struggle. This wasn’t over, and it probably would never be, but he had done what he needed to do to feel at peace, for the first time in 10,000 years.

Loss and grief were constant burdens to those who had to carry them. They got lighter with time, but never truly disappeared.

As Keith stared down at the kingdom of Altea, the Castle gleaming with teal light, he resolved that he would do everything he could to stop others from having to bear the brunt of that burden.

They sure as hell wouldn’t have to bear it alone, at least.

Keith had one more faerie he needed to talk to tonight.

. . .

Allura was in her room when he knocked, something that surprised him. He had gone there just to cover all his bases—the queen had always avoided her room as much as she could. But when he knocked, the door swung open, a tired-looking Allura standing inside.

She seemed to age another twenty years when she saw him, and sighed. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Come in. I knew we weren’t going to avoid this forever.”

“You don’t have to sound so excited,” he muttered before he could think better of it. “Ah, wait—”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “We both know what we need to talk about, so let’s not waste time beating around the bush.”

Keith nodded. “Alright. I’d just like to say I’m sorry.”

Allura’s eyes widened; despite everything that had happened, she hadn’t been expecting an apology. Keith continued in her silence. “My family betrayed yours—and while that wasn’t my fault, because my family is a bunch of pretentious, powerful asshats, I still didn’t manage to warn you, or stop them. I honestly didn’t realize it was coming; I knew my mother was plotting something, but I didn’t suspect the corruption of the entire Galran race.

“And more than that, I’m sorry for Myrddin’s death.” It was the first time he’d spoken the name aloud in 10,000 years. “You—you two were everything to me. My best friends; really, my only friends, besides your father and his staff. Coran. My kingdom hated me, so I lived in yours. And naturally, I wrecked it. If I had never… if I had never come, if I had listened to my parents and avoided Alteans, Myrddin would still be alive today. He wasn’t supposed to die; heartbreak killed him. And I’m the one who broke his heart.”

He fell silent, and Allura stared at him with wide eyes. He hadn’t realized she was tearing up until the first one tracked a trail down her smooth face, and she spoke. “You broke yours, too. I can tell now. I didn’t see it before.”

She continued, speaking as if she was waking up after a long nightmare. “You always loved him… I—I thought you’d betrayed him, betrayed us. You never came back after Haggar attacked. I was convinced—but he wasn’t. He told me you’d never do anything like that, ever. He went through three cycles as a phoenix, insisting that the entire time. I only became more set against you; he never wavered. Even—even right before he died, he whispered, ‘Goodbye, Shadow.’ Then he combusted to ashes that never sparked back up. He _knew.”_

Allura was openly crying now, and Keith felt his own ducts respond in kind, staring at her while tears trailed down his already damp cheeks. “I—I’m so _sorry,_ Keith. I never meant—I only thought—God, I messed this all up. I—I should’ve listened. I should’ve _trusted_ you. I’m so sorry. So sorry.” He embraced her, and they wept together. He buried his face in Allura’s soft hair, and she cried onto his shoulder as she choked out apologies.

“It’s okay,” he murmured back. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

She finally pulled away; Keith reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek, and she chuckled wetly. “Old times, huh?”

He smiled in return. “I missed you, Allura.”

“I missed you, under the hatred.” Keith laughed out loud in surprise. “Oh, no, not like that. I just missed the faerie I thought you were—my cousin’s quiet, kind, fiery boyfriend. Appropriate for a phoenix. Now I realize you always were that faerie.”

Keith smiled sadly. “I’m not quite that faerie any more. I’ve changed. We both have.”

Allura nodded, and they sat in silence for a few beats before Keith asked a question that had been gnawing at him. “The observatory, on the mountainside. What happened to it?”

“After Myrddin’s death, we let his ashes fly—we actually did so from the top of the observatory. It felt fitting, somehow.”

Keith felt a strange rush of relief—Myrddin wasn’t buried in the grave from his dream. It had seemed wrong, to bury him under the ground when he had loved the sky. He was glad to learn that Myrddin had met his end how he would’ve wanted to.

“Anyway, a day or so after the ceremony, an enormous earthquake swept through Altea. Miraculously, no one was injured, and no building was destroyed—except for the observatory. I thought it was a sign of some sort, from you or Myrddin, wherever you were. Maybe residual magic, I didn’t know. I only knew it seemed disrespectful to rebuild it. A last tribute to Shadow and Flame, you might say.”

If Keith hadn’t already cried himself dry, he might’ve started to tear up again. “Thank you, Allura.”

She smiled softly in return. “The least I could do.” She paused, considering, and then spoke again. “You went up to the mountain?”

He nodded. “A... a goodbye. I have friends in this timeline, fae I need to keep living for. I—I needed to say goodbye.”

“I understand. I think you’re right—I, at least, have had millennia to mourn, and to push past my grief. It must be so new for you, overwhelming.”

Keith bowed his head. “Not new. I had nightmares for millennia—I don’t think they started right away, but they lasted more than 9,000 years. I saw… horrible things… I think I knew Myrddin had died. I mourned for three years on that assumption, but I still hoped. Until…”

“Until I told you,” she finished, and Keith nodded. “I’m sorry you had to learn that way. It was insensitive of me.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t know any better. You were heartbroken and hurt, too—and I bet you thought you’d never have to see me again.”

Allura inclined her head in agreement, a slight smirk on her face. “That is true. If I’m being honest, I said that if I ever stumbled upon your grave I would spit on it.”

Keith laughed—a real, honest-to-goodness laugh—and it felt like old times again. He was glad for it; he wasn’t sure if he could’ve stood Allura’s standoffishness and her cold fury for much longer. “Sounds about right. For the record, if I ever do betray you, I give you full permission to spit on my grave.”

“Oh, I won’t need your permission, _Prince_ Keith.” Allura grinned. “May I remind you, I’m a queen now. I officially have more power than you.”

“You always did, ‘Llura.”

“You know, Lance uses that nickname, too. I always thought it odd, given that you both are 10,000 years apart on the timeline.”

“I didn’t come up with it—that was Myrddin’s work.” Keith shrugged. “They must’ve just come up with it on their own. It’s not that inventive.”

At the mention of Lance, a memory flashed through his mind, something he had wanted to mention but was nervous for the reply. “Ah—Allura. I wanted to ask—earlier, when Lance came up with the plan—you, ah, kissed him, on the cheek. Are you both—”

Allura stared at him for two whole seconds before she burst out laughing. “Oh my—oh my God—Lance—oh, Keith—” The púca crossed his arms, annoyed and self-conscious by the response, and waited for Allura to gather herself. “No, not at all. Lance and I in a relationship? No, we’re just friends. He plays at it, you know, he flirts and jokes and winks, but I’ve never really gotten the sense that he was serious. Maybe the first time—I made it very clear I wasn’t interested. It’s just his personality—it’s become a joke between us.”

Her gaze turned thoughtful. “He’s seemed even less serious in the past couple of days—he does it for show, for banter, still. But there’s nothing behind it besides habit. I wonder if there’s a reason for that…” She shot Keith a grin, and he emphatically shook his head.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

She shrugged, still smirking. Just like old times, after all—too much like old times for Keith’s taste. “Alright… I’ll buy that. For our friendship’s sake.”

“You’d better.”

“I do…” She stood up, crossing over to the door. “Oh, Coran’s calling for me. More Lions arrived—I’ve got to link them to the core. I’ll need to do you, too.”

Keith waved her on. “We’ll have plenty of time later. Go find Coran. You can link me after you’re done with all the Lions.”

Allura nodded, smiling. “Thank you, Keith. For being the faerie I thought you were even when I was sure you weren’t.”

“Thank you, ‘Llura, for forgiving me.”

“There was nothing you ever needed to apologize for.” Before Keith could protest, she stepped out of the room. “See you later, Keith. Oh, and by the way—Lance is in the far room of the centaur hallway. In case you wanted to know.” She winked and shut the door behind her.

Keith grumbled to himself before opening the door and shifting into a cat, nudging the door closed after he slunk through it; he didn’t think it would be proper to leave the Queen of Altea’s chambers open.

After a brief internal conflict, he set out for the centaur statue. There was no use deluding himself; with Shiro and Allura both busy, he was going to seek out the selkie. Even if they hadn’t been busy, there was a good chance Keith would go and find Lance anyway.

He was padding down the hallway when he sensed something oddly familiar—a core behind one of the doors that he recognized, if not completely so. He could feel Lance’s blue core and a bright aquamarine one that was stained purple-black in the next room, but even so he felt drawn to the one behind the second-to-last door.

He gave in to his instincts and, shifting back, entered the room.

It was dark, with only the faint light of dim ghostlights as illumination, and Keith only caught a glimpse of the faerie on the bed—but the short, light hair and the face shape, along with the strange familiarity of their core, could lead Keith to only one conclusion, however unlikely.

_“Matt?”_

The faerie’s eyes flew open, and they sat bolt upright— _wings_ fluttering limply behind them. “Matt?”

 _Not Matt,_ Keith realized. The ghostlights had brightened as the faerie woke up—he could see the differences now. This faerie had wings, not horns, and her hair was poofier, less shaggy, and slightly darker. There were glasses on the bedside table—Matt had never complained of poor vision. Her eyes were Matt’s, though—and her core was bizarrely similar to his, at least on the surface. He allowed himself to look deeper; past the surface, obvious differences surfaced. She was a pixie—her core was slowly turning Galra—she was smaller than Matt but more fiery.

She scowled. “K—keep out of my h—head.”

He didn’t respond—instead, he just stared, before managing to stammer out a reply. “Pidge?”

“You—you said my br—other’s name.”

“I…” Keith floundered. Matt had expressly told him not to let Pidge know where he was; but it wasn’t like Pidge’s condition could any worse. Whatever the Galra had done to Matt was not going to change anything. And it was clear she’d latched on to the sliver of hope to find her brother—Keith could never be so cruel as to take it away from her. “Yeah, I did. I know him.”

“You’re Kei—th.”

The púca nodded in surprise. “Yeah. How’d you—”

“L—Lance,” she said, smirking wryly. “He c—came by. But an—anyway. Matt?”

“He was captured by the Galra. I broke him out of a Galran facility about a half year ago, and he’s been living with me ever since. I would’ve told you—or Lance, for that matter—about him, but he told me not to.”

“W—what?” Pidge was sick, suffering from Haggar’s curse, and yet she still managed to sound enraged. Enraged and hurt.

“He was worried that Haggar had done something to him that would make him hurt you. He only stayed away because he was worried you’d get hurt.”

The pixie scowled. “Th—that idiot!” She threw her leg over the side of the bed, starting to get up. “W—well, I have to go—go get him.” She threw her other leg over, and stood up—or tried to. Her legs buckled under her; Keith was there to catch her before she hit the ground, and laid her back in bed.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

She glared up at him. “I—I’ll crawl.”

“Good Lord, Pidge,” Keith groaned. “I said _you’re_ not going anywhere. Nothing about me. I’ll go get Matt.”

“What?” Keith turned; Lance was standing in the doorway, looking shocked. “Pidge’s brother? You know where he is?”

Keith nodded. “I would’ve said something, but he told me not to. He was worried about the Galra—”

Lance shushed him. “Explanations are great and all, but we need to go find Matt. Like, this instant. I know Pidge, and if we don’t leave _right now,_ she’ll go after him. And she’s sick. And doesn’t know where he is.”

Keith turned back to Pidge, expecting a retort. She just shrugged, nodding. “It—it’s true.”

“C’mon, Keith,” Lance said, beckoning. “We’ll get a team—I know Allura will want to come with us. Shiro and Hunk, too.” He met Pidge’s watery gaze. “We’ll bring him back, Pidgey.”

“I know. Th—thank you.” She looked over at Keith. “Thank you—you both.”

Keith smiled in response; he almost felt like he knew Pidge, from Matt’s endless stories, and it was nice to finally meet her for real. Even sick, she was still frighteningly capable and incredibly determined.

Keith shifted into a cat, and he and Lance hurried out toward the bridge where Shiro and Allura most likely were.

“Sorry for rushing,” Lance mumbled to him when they were in an empty hallway. “But… I know how much Pidge needs her brother back. And, if… if we don’t cure the…” He stopped mid-sentence, but Keith understood.

They ran faster.

* * *

 

Lance was back in the forest—this time, though, instead of going to find Keith alone, he was going to rescue Pidge’s sister with backup and no guilty conscience. It was a nice turnabout, in Lance’s opinion.

Hunk had opted to stay at the Castle, to watch over Pidge and Adrian—mostly Pidge, because none of them were completely convinced she wasn’t going to try and follow after them.

Shiro had stayed a little bit behind, in a large glade beside the road, to keep watch and guard their backs. Allura and Lance were following behind Keith, who said that his cave was relatively close. Lance could navigate the forest better, now, but he still wasn’t experienced enough to do it at night when not even the moon was out to brighten their path. A few ghostlights Allura had brought was all they had in way of illumination.

“Right up here,” Keith huffed.

Sure enough, soon they burst out into an opening—where Lance had found Keith sparring with the rock statue, and the stone wall of the cave right beside.

Keith turned to Allura. “Could you remove those rocks?”

She smirked, and waving a hand in the cave’s direction, replied. “Gladly.” The stones floated away, settling down on the grass nearby, leaving a wide, dark opening. The only light coming from it was the flickering red-orange flare of a fire, and there was nothing moving inside.

Keith darted in; Lance and Allura followed.

There was a satyr propped against the wall, asleep and snoring lightly, with familiar shaggy hair and tiny horns—Matt. It really was him. Lance hadn’t thought Keith was lying… he just hadn’t been able to bring himself to believe that all this time, _Keith_ had known _Matt._ It seemed too bizarre a coincidence to be possible, and yet… it was.

Keith shook him awake, and he yelped in surprise when he saw Lance.

“Keith,” he hissed. “I told you not to tell anyone!”

“I know,” the púca replied. “It was an accident, but besides, Pidge is sick. Cursed. She’s not on her deathbed or anything, but we knew you’d want to come.”

The satyr’s face had gone slack in the firelight, mouth working but no sound coming out. Finally, “Cursed?” Less of a word than a wheeze. “Pidge’s cursed?”

Keith nodded solemnly. “We’ve got to—”

Matt hopped to his feet. “What are we waiting for? I’ve got to go find her!” He darted out of the cave, Keith close on his heels; Lance followed, and Allura joined their train as they ran back toward Shiro, breathlessly answering Matt’s questions.

“When did it happen?”

“Last night,” Lance said. “I came to tell Keith, and then we realized we had a lead on the curse, so he never got to tell you. We’ve been in the Castle ever since.”

“Is she in pain?”

“She’s got a bad cough—her breathing is labored, and she’s clammy and pale and weak. But she also devoured what seems like the entire Altean record on the Galra, so her mind is still firing at full power.”

Matt chuckled wetly. “That’s Pidge, all right. She could be bleeding out and still calculating exactly how many blood cells were still in her body.”

“Sounds like Pidge,” Allura agreed. “But don’t worry, Matt. We have a plan to defeat the Galra, and once we do, the curse should be lifted. The main reason we came to get you was that Pidge would’ve flown here herself if we didn’t.”

Matt took a few deep breaths before nodding. “Okay. Okay, I’m fine. Thank you guys, for coming to get me. I’ll be glad to help with your plan, if you need me.”

“You could probably help Pidge research,” Lance suggested. “Two genius minds are better than one, eh?”

The satyr grinned. “More like one and a half.”

“You were a solid one genius mind before you got captured,” Lance joked. “What, did living with Keith bring you down a level?”

“Lance…” Keith groaned, scowling.

“I’m just kidding, Mullet,” the selkie replied, grinning. Keith huffed in reply.

They took a collective moment to catch their breaths before Matt spoke up again. “What is the curse, exactly? Could I have it?”

Keith shook his head immediately. “You don’t have it—you’d be dead or out of your mind right now if Haggar had cursed you all those months ago. I’d feel it, besides.”

“But what _is_ it?”

Allura jumped in. “It’s a weapon Haggar created to take over Altea and steal our magic for herself. It transforms Altean energy, Altean core magic, to corrupt Galran core. The process is painful, and even if it doesn’t kill you… well, the Galra corruption will take over your being.”

Matt paled, slowing down and almost stopping. “And that—that’s what Pidge is under?”

Lance nodded solemnly, as did the other two. “We’re going to stop it though, Matt. We’re going to find someway to lift the curse.”

Matt nodded distractedly, a dazed look on his face as he ran to match their speed again. He didn’t say another word, just retreated within himself. Lance prayed his retreat wouldn’t become his prison.

“We’re almost back to Shiro,” Keith reported stiffly. Matt nodded robotically; Lance and Allura murmured their understanding.

They broke the tree line, Shiro standing about forty meters away. He straightened when he saw them, waving. Lance waved back—Shiro only waved faster. Almost frantically.

Allura and Keith gasped at once and started sprinting, barreling toward where Shiro was standing. _“Run!”_

Lance was more than happy to comply, picking up the pace. Whatever could scare those three—Lance did not want to find out what it was.

They were close, close enough to hear Shiro clearly yelling at them to hurry, when an enormous thunder clap boomed and a bolt of black lightning struck the ground between them and Shiro, sending them all flying.

Lance sat up, ears ringing and eyes blinking rapidly, to see a hazy, sparking field of purple energy in front of them. It was a curved wall, a dome, that extended only a few feet ahead but deep into the forest on either side, and behind them there was no visible wall. He couldn’t see where it ended, only that it blocked off the path to the road.

Keith, Matt, and Allura were lying stunned, in various stages of gathering their wits—Shiro was on the other side of the force field, eyeing it warily as he stood up.

Lance stood, and approached the wall. He heard “Lance, don’t!” as he raised his hand; he ignored it, and placed it on the energy field.

Or he tried to—his hand went right through. He didn’t even feel a tingle. He pushed his whole arm through. Nothing.

When he tried to pull them back, however, he found that they were stuck. It was a one way only force field, then. Designed to keep fae out, not in. He stepped through, and gestured to the other three. “C’mon, it’s harmless.”

They shared a glance, then Matt shrugged and stepped through. “He’s right. I didn’t feel anything.” Allura followed, beckoning to Keith, who was standing by warily.

“Come on, Keith. It’s fine.”

He scowled at it. “It—I don’t like it. It’s my mother’s work.” After glaring at the wall for a few seconds, he sighed and followed—then yelped as he walked into a solid barrier.

Lance’s eyes flew wide as Keith tried to stick a hand through—it made contact with the field as if it were made of stone, cold and unyielding. The púca looked up, eyes panicked. “I—I can’t get through. Allura…?”

Allura looked sick; she swallowed thickly before replying. “It must be designed to keep Alteans out, and Galra in. It’s a blessing Shiro wasn’t—wasn’t in there with you. I don’t think his arm would be able to pass through. Is there any other way out—”

Keith cut her off. “I’m absolutely sure this barrier extends around the entire forest. There is no exit.” He kicked at the field, cursing as his foot met solid matter. “I can’t escape.”

The queen gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “I didn’t—oh, Keith, I never gave you any Altean core! When—when the Galran core falls, you’ll fall with it.” She raised her hands, teal light sparking out of her fingertips, not traveling any further past the barrier. “I—I can’t—”

Lance whirled on her, frantic. “But we’ll have a day before he dies, right? A day to restore his core? We can still save him?”

She met his gaze, eyes impossibly sad. “In theory, yes. It’s a long shot, however—and he’d still need to survive until I can muster enough energy to destroy the core. A day, at the very least.”

“What do you mean?” Lance felt wild, mad with worry and fear, and had to restrain himself from yelling at Allura to explain. All he could see was Keith, strong, stubborn Keith, trapped and scared in a kingdom about to become a warzone.

“Haggar will find him,” she said. “There’s no doubt. The Galra will come for him—to capture him, at first, but they’ll want to kill him. And they will.”

Lance heard himself mumble something as his hands fell limp to his sides; he heard the gasps and whispered horror of the others as if at the end of a long tunnel. He felt numb to the outside world, blood beating a death knell in his ears as “kill him, kill him” ran through his head like a river of acid.

He was barely aware of the grass beneath his knees until strong arms grabbed his shoulders. “Lance? Lance? Talk to me, Lance. Breathe. Breathe with me.” The voice drew in deep breaths; Lance copied them automatically, feeling himself calm down a fraction. The faerie in front of him revealed themselves to be Shiro, talking to him reassuringly. “There we go, Lance. Keep breathing. Deep breaths.”

Finally, the world settled around him and he was able to stand up, taking the arm that Shiro offered. The others were looking at him in concern, but his vision tunneled on Keith, standing on the other side of the flickering energy. He walked over to him; he heard someone whisper, “Let’s give them some time,” but didn’t pay them any mind.

He placed a hand to the wall; Keith mirrored him. There were no tears in his eyes, but he was smiling sadly. Smiling like he’d already lost, he just had yet to pay the price. Lance wanted to vomit.

It must’ve shown on his face, because Keith started talking hurriedly. “Hey, now. Don’t cry on me, Lance. I’ll—I’ve got a plan. Sort of.”

Lance choked out a laugh. “You, Mr. Wing It McDaredevil, have a plan?”

Keith didn’t even bother to fake a glare, just grinned. “It was bound to happen once in a while.”

“I—oh, God, Keith, I—” Lance ducked his head, squeezing his eyes fiercely against the tears that threatened to fall. “I—”

“Shh, Lance. Shh…” Keith placed his other hand to the force field. “It’ll all be alright. Whatever happens.”

“You _dying_ is not alright!” Lance spat, head darting upward, tears spilling. “It’s not alright!”

“I—” Keith sighed, and went quiet, bowing his head. They stood there, in heated, painful silence for several seconds before the púca looked up again.

“There’s something I want you to see,” he said, eyes meeting Lance’s with a determination that shone in every gray fleck. “In case I… in case…” He stopped, mid-sentence. “I just need to show you.”

Lance nodded, eyes wide with curiosity; Keith glanced quickly around to make sure no other eyes were on them, then waved a finger around his head.

Purple sparkles floated through the air as Keith’s appearance began to change. The black drained out of his hair, leaving white behind; freckles appeared over his nose and under his eyes; ears lengthened and grew points; his canines grew sharper.

Lance stared. Keith had never been ugly, despite Lance’s own teasing remarks to the contrary; if you had twisted his arm, Lance might’ve even admitted he was good-looking. But something—the vulnerable look in Keith’s gaze as he revealed something he rarely shared, maybe, or the way his eyes gleamed brighter, closer to magic, indigo and deep and compelling—made him reconsider.

He stared; he wanted to brush Keith’s soft ivory bangs behind his long ears, gaze into those captivating eyes for hours, kiss every last freckle on that stupid pretty face, tell him how beautiful he was.

So he did.

“Keith… you’re beautiful.”

The púca blushed deep red, his ears flicking downwards. “I—you think so?”

Lance nodded softly. “If you don’t mind me asking, why _do_ you have the glamour?”

Keith sighed, ears drooping—they were much more expressive this way, Lance noticed. He wanted to learn what each movement meant. “To distance myself from my family. Both Haggar and Lotor have the white hair, the red-rimmed eyes, the pointed ears. I looked too similar. I… I hated it.”

Lance reached out, but his hand only met the barrier. “You should—after the war, you should keep it like this. After your family is gone. After they can’t hurt you anymore.” He suddenly felt a blinding flash of rage toward anyone who would hurt Keith. His own _family_ made him feel so hated that he changed his appearance so he wouldn’t be reminded of them everytime he looked in a mirror. Lance couldn’t imagine having a family like that; he wanted to punch Haggar in the face. Zarkon and Lotor as well, preferably.

Keith smiled softly, sadly. “Maybe I will.”

Lance didn’t miss what the púca was thinking—that it didn’t matter what he agreed to if he was going to die anyway, and suddenly Lance was furious. “You will, or you won’t, Keith, but you’re going to live to make the goddamn decision. I promise you, Keith. I swear.”

Keith stared back with tears shimmering in his beautiful eyes. “I’ll try, Lance.”

That wasn’t good enough. “You _will.”_

Keith met Lance’s eyes, his gaze vulnerable, terrified. But what Keith saw in his eyes must have changed something, for his face hardened and with it, his resolve. “Alright, Lance. I will. I won’t abandon you. I promise.”

“I—I—” Lance felt he had something important to say, something he needed to say, but he couldn’t call it to his clumsy tongue. “Goodbye, Samurai.”

Keith smiled, eyes watery and mouth wide. “Goodbye, Sharpshooter.”

Lance lingered for one last moment, drinking in Keith standing there, trying to memorize every last detail, before he had to step away. He knew the longer he waited, the harder it would be to leave—he watched in silence as the other said their own tearful farewells, finally pulling themselves away from the boy on the other side of the wall.

Keith caught his eye and smiled one final time;  Lance returned it, shakily, and turned away as the others began the run to the Castle.

Looking back would break him; it took every ounce of his will, but he kept his gaze forward. He couldn’t look back.

So he didn’t.


	3. Till the Break of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⊹❇⊹
> 
> Stay a while and we'll dance together now  
>  As the light is falling  
>  We'll reel away till the break of day  
>  And dance together till morning
> 
> ⊹❇⊹

 As soon as the other fae disappeared from sight, Keith started running the opposite direction. He hurriedly recast his glamour; while he had wanted Lance to see it— _was that conversation even real, or was it a fever dream?_ —he couldn’t face his family looking like them. A small act of defiance in a long string of small acts of defiance.

Because, as crazy as it sounded, he was going to face Haggar. Alone, armed with only a knife and faulty magic.

Like he had told Lance, he had a plan. It was just a totally insane one.

He had decided not to elaborate on that part.

But the thing was—Allura’s plan was to destroy the core herself, using her own magic and the magic stored up by the kingdom. It would take enormous power—even so, Keith suspected she would be able to pull it off.

But the only faerie to ever succeed at destroying another core had died with it. Alfor.

Keith couldn’t let Allura meet the same fate as her father.

Thus, his reasoning for this move. If he could destroy Haggar, he would destroy the kingdom’s magic, as the core was connected directly to her, and Allura wouldn’t have to sacrifice herself.

And if he ended up the sacrifice? He wasn’t the leader of an entire free kingdom; he was expendable, not that he’d admit that to anyone, because they would lie and tell him he wasn’t. But he was, and he knew it, and he was going to kill Haggar if it killed him—which had a good chance of happening.

Besides, it was family business.

. . .

Keith knew he was in trouble when he made it to the palace with almost no resistance. Haggar wanted him to come; she could almost certainly see him, and she would never let him get this close if she didn’t want him to.

He managed to get within the palace by only knocking out two sentries waiting at a lesser-known entry, and evaded all other Galra inside. Granted, he did take the passageways it was likely only the royal family was aware of—but Haggar or Lotor could’ve certainly found him.

A well-aimed knife took out one of Haggar’s druids, standing guard by her door. Keith had been keeping to non-life-threatening injuries—it wasn’t the Galra’s fault that Haggar had corrupted them. But the druids… they were the witch’s minions, her staunchest supporters. They had helped her achieve the corruption of the core—they had helped bring about all the destruction and grief that followed.

If they burned a little for it, was Keith really in the wrong?

He flashbacked to when Lance was talking about killing Haxus; he had looked sick, disgusted—not by the Galra, but by himself for killing him. Remorseful; regretful. Keith could never be as virtuous as that—he could never feel regret for taking down a being that had caused so much suffering.

Allura. Myrddin. Shiro. Matt. Coran. Alfor. Pidge. Adrian. Lance. Hunk. All of Altea—many of Daibazaal—himself. How many more would suffer at Zarkon and Haggar’s hands?

He refused to find out. They would die before they caused any more pain.

He would make sure of it.

Keith stepped into Haggar’s room warily, hoping that she wouldn’t fly out at him—but she wasn’t there.

Instead, there was an opening in the floor, leading downwards into the ground. No light was coming from it; instead, it seemed to exude pure darkness. Keith had never known this passageway existed—of course, why would she share the secret with her disappointment son?

It seemed evil. So, exactly where Haggar would be. The perfect battlefield; she likely knew it like the back of her hand. Keith had never seen it before. He would be crushed into the ground like the pest she saw him as.

Without hesitating, he walked right down.

He was able to call a flickering spark of fire to his hand. The little light it gave off seemed to be swallowed by the shadows, deeper and stronger than regular patches of lightlessness. It surrounded him, every step he took a step further into the maw of the beast. It sent shivers down his spine, raised the hair on the back of his neck, made his pulse beat faster.

The fire trembled and died.

He prayed that he wouldn’t follow it.

He continued walking down the spiral of stone steps, his footsteps all too loud against the rock. Not that it mattered—Haggar had known he was here from the moment he had entered. She was watching him right now, a grin doubtlessly on her face, more gleeful than his actions had ever caused her to be.

Not his first steps, not his first word, not his core sight, not the times where he actually sparred against his brother and won. None of that had made her proud—she had never been happy then.

No—it was because he was coming to kill her, and she was going to kill him.

His face hardened in defiance. Not without a fight.

A cold laugh echoed around the chamber, bouncing off the walls, amplifying it until it seemed to swallow Keith in its harshness, its wickedness, its depravity. Its wrongness.

She kept cackling, and cackling, until Keith made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A purple light flared up in the center of the room—an orb of pure, crackling electricity.

Behind the orb was a cloaked figure—a dark violet cloak trimmed with gold, straight white hair streaming from under it, the hood concealing much of the face. Not that the hood was necessary—Keith knew all too well what his mother looked like.

She smirked, and hissed in Galran, _Look who’s come crawling back._

Keith didn’t reply, just growled low in his throat. She began circling around the room—he moved with her.

 _Your glamour becomes weaker everyday, boy,_ she said, flicking out a finger. A tendril of lightning screamed from it, hitting Keith in the chest. He felt his glamour dissolve. _It hides nothing of the truth beneath._

“It _shows_ the truth,” Keith snapped. “I’m no son of yours.”

The witch snarled. _Speaking in Common? How delightfully weak—and how utterly wrong. It doesn’t befit you, Keith. You’re Galra._

“I’m Galra—I’m not evil.”

She grinned wide. _Aren’t the two one and the same? You’re Galra. Your family destroyed your friends’ home. You didn’t save them. You cost that phoenix his life._ Her smirk lengthened. _I felt him die, you know. I was there. I felt the moment his soul left his body, because of the heartbreak_ you _caused. Fine work, I must say._

 _“No!”_ Keith yelled, furious. His magic rushed through his body, an alive thing, weakened but straining against its bounds. “Shut up!”

Haggar laughed. _Oh, but why? You already know all of this. You’re Galra, and you’ll never fit in. You’ll never truly be able to have a home, outside of Daibazaal. You’ll never have a family, outside of me._

_You’re my son, Keith, and they all know it. The glamour doesn’t hide you, nor does speaking in Common, nor does foolishly loving an Altean._

He felt her looking within him, and he was helpless to stop her hooks from clawing their way through his core. Her eyes gleamed with sick, feverish delight.

 _Oh,_ two _Alteans. You know, I can feel his mind. I’ve felt it when he draws near the ones I cursed._ She smiled, dark and twisted. _He doesn’t love you. How could he? You’re a monster, Keith. One of the family. How could anyone love a Galra? How could anyone love Prince Keith?_

“No!” Keith cried. “I—I don’t believe you. I—he—”

_Do you want to know what’s happening to him right now? As we speak, he’s dying, suffering. He’s becoming one of mine; one of ours._

Keith’s eyes flew wide, terrified. “You cursed him?”

 _Oh, no, boy—your friends are doing this. The Infant Queen, Allura—she’s the magic behind it._ Keith stared at her, trying to convince himself that it was a lie, just like everything else that hissed from her mouth. _Not that it will matter. They will all be Galra within a week._

“You’re lying,” Keith muttered. “You’ve got to be.”

_About the week, or your selkie? I’m afraid I’m lying about neither._

“Shut up.” It was weak, strained, desperate. Keith knew it, and Haggar heard it, thrived on it.

_I don’t think I will, and you’re not powerful enough to stop me. Prince Keith—the Powerless Prince, whose magic wouldn’t even let him shift. You’re weak, Keith, and you always have been._

_Your so-called friends know it, too. They aren’t afraid of you—they watched you break down. They knew you were Galra, weren’t to be trusted, but they knew you couldn’t do anything. So they kept you. The selkie—he knows your magic is flawed. He’s felt it. What did he say?_

Keith replied despite himself, as if in a trance. “There’s something wrong with it—really wrong.”

She smirked, showing teeth, but Keith barely saw it. _You see? You’re damaged, Keith. I’m the only one who can help you. I’m the only one who could_ want _you._

Keith stumbled, falling to a knee. Haggar drew closer. “No—I—they don’t—”

 _Why hide your heritage? They’ll never want you. How could they trust a Galra?_ With every cutting word, she drew a step closer. _The selkie, the Infant Queen, her advisor, the golem, the satyr, my Champion. None of them will ever want you. They’ve never seen the real Keith—if they had, why would they keep you?_

She was standing above him now; he was crouched on the ground. Trails of wet heat were making their way down his cheeks. He didn’t remember when he’d started crying.

Keith stared up at her, and she down at him. Her mouth widened, teeth jagged and grin horrible, and he could see her golden-glowing eyes from under her hood.

_And when they finally meet the real you, they will throw you away._

Keith trembled. Everything Haggar said—they were his deepest fears. That he’d be abandoned, that his being Galra and his family would push everyone away, that he was really as monstrous as everyone said the Galra were. And coming from Haggar’s lips—his mother’s lips—they sounded so much more real, as if his fears had taken form and were standing, true as life, right in front of him.

_So, Prince. Son. What do you say? Join me and become worthy of your title, stronger than you’ve ever dreamed—or become their trash. All you have to do is say yes. Say yes, and become my son._

Another arrow aimed dead at Keith’s heart—in the early years of his life, he did everything he could for his mother’s attention, for her love. It became quickly apparent that it wasn’t worth it—he was nothing compared to Lotor in her eyes, and never would be.

But that hadn’t stopped Keith from desperately trying to please her. It had never worked; Keith had realized it would never work by the time he turned fourteen. Had known it even earlier, just couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

And now she was offering him one more chance. One more try at gaining his mother’s favor. For all that he hated her, and everything she stood for—she was still his mother, and he her son.

He was a child again, small in his mother’s shadow, weak and lonely. Desperate for love. Lacking it.

 _No,_ Keith thought. _No. Not lacking._

Haggar’s yellow eyes turned red-gold, then cyan and purple, then gray, then amber, then ocean blue. Beautiful, deep, ocean blue, determined and brave and kind.

_They’re still alive. I—I can’t give up on them. I promised._

_I_ won’t.

The witch’s eyes faded back to yellow as she smirked.

He bowed his head, lowering his hands to his sides, and she laughed.

_A wise decision, son._

Keith growled, and hissed a single word in Galran.

_No._

He slammed the knife nestled in his right palm upward—Haggar dodged out of the way, cobra fast, and snarled. _Is that how we’re playing it, then, boy?_

Her eyes flared and twin balls of lightning hummed on her palms.

_Fine._

And with that, the battle began.

* * *

 

Coran was waiting for them at the Castle gates, his face grim. Lance’s blood ran cold.

“Queen Allura, Lance—this will be of special interest to you,” the cervitaur said by way of greeting.

Lance’s imagination ran wild. “Is it Pidge? Adrian? Are they getting worse… or…” He felt too sick to even mention the other possibility.

To his insane relief, Coran shook his head. “No, no, no deaths. But Hunk has fallen ill with the Komar Curse as well.”

Lance felt faint; he nearly fell over, just barely managing to stay on his feet. “No, this can’t—not now—“

Shiro stepped in front of the other three, who were standing there stunned. “Can you take us to him?”

Coran nodded, then seemed to truly notice the group for the first time. “Where’s Pri—Keith?”

The púca paused, sighing deeply, before replying. “He was trapped within Daibazaal, and we have reason to believe Haggar will hunt him down.”

It was the cervitaur’s turn to blanch. He didn’t respond, just closed his eyes and bowed his head before looking back up with deep sorrow in his dark eyes. “Hunk is in Pidge’s room; Shiro, Allura, the bridge is empty,” he said, voice subdued. “Shiro, if you will?”

The púca shifted to a husky without a word, and they all followed into the Castle.

. . .

Hunk was in the room with Pidge, lying on the other bed. The pixie had a slate and some chalk, and was hurriedly scrawling something on it when they entered.

She waved, covering a cough with her sleeve. Apparently talking had gotten too tiresome.

Hunk was sitting up—his face was more drawn than usual, his eyes a little unfocused, bags that didn’t belong there were hanging under—but he didn’t look too awful. The curse hadn’t hit him as hard as Pidge and Adrian, evidently. Lance was insanely glad for it, his knees going weak again, this time in mild relief.

Hunk smiled weakly and waved. “Hey, guys. Things could be going better.”

Lance choked on a hot wad of emotion in his throat and ran over to Hunk’s bedside, throwing his arms around him. “Oh my God—hell, Hunk, I can’t—you’re—I—Keith—”

The golem returned the hug, warm arms wrapping around him with half the force they usually mustered, but welcome and comforting just the same. “Shh… buddy, it’s alright. The plan’s in place, and Pidge and I have been working on finding a cure. It’s not that big a deal. I’ll be totally fine. It’s not even that bad! We’ll all be fine, Lance.”

Lance hated himself—he was shivering and weak and sobbing for what felt like the thirteenth time in the past week. He was crying for his best friends, his family, Keith—wherever he and the púca stood—while _they_ were the ones in danger, the ones cursed, the ones in Galra clutches. Lance himself was _fine_ —and yet he was the only one crying. He was the weakest link, both in ability and emotional stability.

The selkie had barely managed to stop his tears when twin cries sounded behind him—he turned around, moving out of Hunk’s embrace, to see a tannish blur flinging itself at Pidge, colliding with her, wrapping his arms around her tightly as they both cried.

Lance sighed in quiet contentment; the Holt siblings had finally been reunited. Sam Holt had yet to be located, but at least Pidge now had someone else to help her search, and someone else to force her to go to sleep after staying up hours checking on a lead.

Pidge was still coughing, still clammy and pale and weak, but she clung to her brother with all the strength she possessed, and he returned the hug with equal fervor. They were both shaking, shuddering with raw emotion, whispering in each other’s hair. Lance couldn’t help but feel jealous, and then guilty—he had no right to envy a reunion that they had both suffered so much for. Adrian had only been sick for a week, and they had a plan to cure him.

Still, he couldn’t deny that it sent a pang through his chest.

Finally, the two siblings pulled away, still sniffling and grinning wider than Lance had ever seen. There was a shimmer in Pidge’s eyes that hadn’t been there since she’d been cursed—as if some of her magic had returned with Matt.

She grabbed the slate from where she had thrown it to the side, scrawling out, _Matt, you—you really were alive. In Keith’s cave. All this time?_

The satyr shook his head, disentangling himself from his sister and sitting on her bedside. “I spent half the year in Haggar’s clutches. Keith doesn’t think I’m cursed, though—I’m not sure what else she could’ve been experimenting with, but I trust his judgement.” He chuckled wryly. “When it doesn’t involve potentially extreme-risk situations.”

Lance nodded, a faint smile curving his mouth in agreement. Keith had an almost comically poor sense of self-preservation sometimes, always thinking with his heart and not his head.

A cold chill ran down his spine, freezing the grin off his face—he didn’t like how that boded for Keith’s so-called ‘plan.’ One that the selkie had no idea of the specifics of, only that there was one, and it was made by Keith. Lance lo—respected Keith, but he didn’t have the highest confidence in his plan-making abilities. At least, his abilities to make plans that didn’t have a high probability of ending in injury.

Matt seemed to be following the same thought process, and Hunk was looking at Lance with worry in his gaze. “Lance? Are you alright? Where’s—” His eyes went wide. “Keith. Did he—?”

 ”He’s not dead,” Lance managed to get out. “He’s alive. He got trapped, by some magic barrier. It kept Alteans out and Galra in. But…” Lance had cried enough today; he refused to let a single tear more drip down his face. The image of Keith, scared but determined as he pushed against the purple energy, challenged his constitution.

Matt replied before Lance could force himself to continue. “But Haggar will track him. He is her son, after all. She knows his core better than probably anyone. It won’t take her long to find him. And when she does, she’s not going to show mercy.”

Dead silence in the room—Lance felt sorry, so sorry, for the two Holts. They had to have their reunion during wartime, where the losses outnumbered the triumphs. Yes, they had gotten Matt back, but at what cost? And could they ever hope to destroy Haggar—before Pidge was the one who ran out of time?

Lance clutched Hunk tighter, the golem returning the gesture. It was all too tragic. Keith should be here; Pidge and Hunk and Adrian should be well; Allura shouldn’t be about to try and destroy a kingdom that could destroy her in return.

Lance wasn’t an idiot—he knew that Alfor had sacrificed himself to destroy the core. It was likely Allura was going to attempt the same thing. The young queen was stronger, after 10,000 years of absorbing the kingdom’s excess magic—he had to hope that that would be enough. They would all be lending their strength for this fight, but Lance knew all too well that Allura would never back down. She would give her life for Altea.

And it terrified him.

Pidge broke the silence with the scrape of chalk against slate. _First things first,_ she had written, _we need to find the damn cure for this stupid thing. The longer the curse saps at Altea’s core, through our cores, the more powerful Haggar becomes. We can’t face her at anything less than our full strength, and at her weakest._

The pixie’s words seemed to snap them all out of a collective state of mourning, and Hunk replied as if resuming an earlier conversation. “But we’ve talked about this—it’s got to have a light cure. It’s dark magic, there’s got to be some sort of light magic that’ll stop it. A spell component, or a potion, or _something._ Allura and Haggar are somewhat equals, light and dark—there should be a balance for this, too.”

Pidge scowled. _But there’s so many options. So many types of light magic. We need some way to narrow it down._

“Pidge? Can I feel your core?” Matt held out a hand—his sister nodded, and he laid it on her shoulder. His eyebrows furrowed, concentrating, before his eyes flew open as he gasped. “There’s nothing. I can’t feel anything. A creeping sense of wrongness—but nothing. Is that—?”

The others nodded, slowly, sadly. “The curse,” Lance replied. “I can’t feel it, but both Allura and Pidge said they saw nothing when they tried to touch it. It’s slippery—perfect for a witch like Haggar.” Real hate creeped into his voice, loathing burning away his fear. The Galran witch was the entire reason for all this suffering— _she_ corrupted Daibazaal, _she_ caused the war, _she_ preserved herself for 10,000 years just to wake everyone up to a war, _she_ conceived this wretched curse, and _she_ was who was slowly killing everyone he cared about.

Lance would be damned if he’d let her.

Matt frowned thoughtfully. “So the curse is disguised, so no one can sense it.”

The pixie shook her head, scratching on her board. _Keith could tell. I met him, once, and I could feel him in my core. I know he could feel it, though I can’t even feel it within myself._

“Because of his core sight,” Hunk said. “Allura said it was crazy strong.”

“When he could focus it enough to make it work,” Matt said. “I don’t know if he told you, and I hate to share his secrets, but we need everything on the table—his magic didn’t work properly. His core was a wild thing. I wonder if that could be genetic, or…” The satyr trailed off, lost in his own theories.

“I felt it too,” Lance added. “Not his core, not really, but his magic through his emotions. His magic was fighting _something_ wild, and I think that’s why it didn’t always work—but I’d bet that he’s right about your core. He did spend half a year with you, after all.”

Matt shook his head. “Oh, no, I think you’re right—he’s definitely right about my core. Like you all said, I would be dead if I had been hit with the most recent version of the curse. I just… I guess I was hoping there was some flaw in Haggar’s magic we could exploit, if it worked like Keith’s.”

 _The biggest thing is that she was able to actually insert magic into fae, converting their own core magic in the process. Allura has always said that giving magic to fae isn’t difficult, but destroying what was already there is nearly impossible—that’s why Alfor died destroying Daibazaal._ Pidge paused, erasing so she could write more. _But Haggar is powerful enough not only to add Galran magic to fae, but to convert them by sapping out the Altean. To multiple fae at a time. To do it to an entire kingdom, eventually._

Hunk growled in frustration. “She’s powerful. But what does that even mean if we don’t know how to lift the curse? It’s a bad curse—I can feel that. But what does it _mean?”_ The golem scowled, eyes flashing gold but fading back as Lance put a calming hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Matt murmured, staring down at his hands. “I don’t know.”

They remained silent for a few more minutes, each trapped in their own minds. Lance was drowning in his—he hadn’t been in the sea in ages, and yet it felt like he was suffocating under the vast pressure of the deep ocean. The turbulent emotions he had been feeling now were heavy, sinking weights, dragging him deep, deep down…

“—at happened, when you were first cursed?” Matt was asking Pidge and Hunk weakly. “Any weird hallucinations? Freaky witches appearing before you? A voice ringing through your head like ‘you have been cursed, mic drop’?”

Pidge coughed out a chuckle before writing a reply, Hunk talking as she scribbled. “I was sitting here, talking to Pidge about stuff, when—I don’t really know, it hurt, and it happened to my core, and I passed out and next thing I knew Coran was standing over me worriedly and I knew I was cursed. But I don’t have as great core sight as Pidge does—she probably felt more.”

The pixie held up her board. _It hurt. It hurt_ a lot, _not that that’s probably a surprise. It felt like something was ripping me apart, like electricity was surging through my veins until it reached my very magic._

Hunk nodded. “That’s what it was kind of like—electricity. Lightning. Ripping me open.”

Matt’s eyes flashed wide and he bolted upright. “Lightning?”

The golem and pixie nodded in unison, and a spark flared in the satyr’s amber gaze. “I—when I was in Haggar’s clutches, that’s what happened to me. That’s exactly what I felt—lightning ripping into me, tearing me apart into tiny little goat pieces. But I—” The spark ignited into a full flame and he started patting his pockets frantically. “I—I’ve got to—I have—damn!”

His hands slowed down as he cursed. “I left it! I can’t believe I left it! I left it in my cave!”

Pidge put a gentle hand on his shoulder as Lance asked, “What? What did you leave?” Bewildered hope was fluttering around in his insides, confused but desperately praying for a single stroke of luck. Just one—one might be all they needed.

“My amulet,” the satyr said, and Pidge’s eyes went wide. She asked a silent question, one her brother answered with a short nod. “Pidge made it for me, before Dad and I went out on our mission. She made one for Dad, too. Maybe… no, never mind—it was supposed to be a simple luck/protection charm, but Pidgey has a habit of going above and beyond what normal fae would do”—he tousled her hair; she didn’t glare or balk, two of her favorite reactions when anyone else touched her—“and designed it herself. No cheap market charms for her two favorite family members, right, Pidgeon?”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, and it was clear her mind was moving at lightning speeds. _You’re saying the amulet protected you from Haggar. How?_

“It could work,” Hunk interjected. “Depending on the components you used and the way you bound it all, it could in theory stand up to a curse—even a curse the strength of Haggar’s.”

Pidge frowned. _It was simple, though. More for my peace of mind than theirs. It was just a little bit of yucca root, some rue, and cinquefoil. I bound it with an Olkarion technique I’ve been trying to learn, kinda like how metal magic absorption works, so no one could tamper with the charm’s magic._

“Yucca, rue, and cinquefoil,” Matt mused. “Could that be it?”

Hunk gasped. “Coran lent me a book on components—I don’t know about the other two, but cinquefoil was used millennia ago to ward off dark magic. There’s nothing about its uses against curses nowadays, since we haven’t had to deal with a curse in thousands of years, but this was a really old book. So maybe—”

Lance caught onto the contagious excitement now, seeing where all this was going. “—so maybe that amulet was able to resist the curse!”

They all four grinned wildly, all daring to hope for what felt like the first time in an era.

“But I still _felt_ the pain, even if the amulet protected me. It was all dark lightning with Haggar, charged with electricity and magic. How could I have not gotten cursed but still felt it?” the satyr asked.

_The absorption technique, combined with the cinquefoil—maybe the amulet absorbed the Galra magic, sparing you from it, but not from the actual lightning. So you got struck by lightning but not cursed?_

“And that would explain why we all felt lightning, even if there wasn’t any visible electricity—it’s all the same curse, just in different settings.” Hunk was getting excited now, Lance could feel it. This theory had a real chance of being the solution—maybe, if they couldn’t come up with a cure, they could at least come up with something that would halt the curse in the meantime.

Matt was staring out at something none of the others could see when he replied, tone distant and spacey. “She was—she wasn’t happy, with the experiment on me. She didn’t understand what was going wrong. I didn’t know what she was even attempting until now, but it all makes sense.” He seemed to come out of his memories, and looked down at his little sister, beaming with pride. “It’s just that my little sister is literally the most badass faerie there is, and made me a charm that kept me safe from the most powerful Galra in existence.”

She beamed back up at him, wrapping her short arms around his thin frame and squeezing him harder than seemed possible for a curse-weakened faerie.

Hunk’s face fell; Lance could practically feel a realization striking him. “Wait—we don’t have any cinquefoil. It’s a rare component, and we can’t search the kingdom that quickly. And you said the forest was blocked off. If we can’t get to it, we can’t bind it and use it to resist the curse.”

Matt opened his mouth, closed it, then repeated the motions again; Pidge just scowled. Lance’s thoughts, however, were moving a mile a minute. “How much cinquefoil would we need?”

 _Not much,_ Pidge scratched. _A bundle? Only two stems per faerie, so maybe six. Cinquefoil’s a potent flower._

In his mind’s eye, he flew from the Castle to his cottage by the ocean, through the front door, up to his room, to the bed where he’d strewn his satchel, to inside the bag where a clump of little yellow flowers were tied together, waiting to be paired with cowrie shells and sold at the market. His eyes flew wide with excitement, anticipation, and more importantly—hope.

“I have fresh cinquefoil,” he exclaimed, talking too quickly in an attempt to get all the words out as fast as possible. Every minute counted, as far as Lance was concerned. “In my room, in my bag. I collected it a while ago, but never sold it—we need to send someone to my house, to get it—” He stood up, almost falling over from the rush of blood to his brain, darting out the door into the hallway. “We need to go get Allura, tell her about everything that happened—”

Matt got to his feet as well, patting Pidge’s head before moving over to the doorway. “I’ll come with you,” he said. “We need to get the flower as soon as poss—”

A shriek, loud and piercing and tortured and horrible, shredded the air.

Lance felt the blood drain from his face, could practically hear the color leaving it. The rushing in his ears roared in slow motion as his body reacted faster than his brain could, throwing open the door to the next room, bolting in like his life depended on it.

The problem was that it wasn’t _his_ life that depended on it.

It was the boy’s life—the one lying in the sick bed, sweating and panting and screaming, eyes glowing with a yellow sheen they’d never before possessed and ghostlights as dark as midnight swirling around him.

It was Adrian’s life that had been on the line this whole time.

And it appeared time had finally run out.

. . .

“I can give him more Altean energy, but I cannot destroy the Galran energy,” Allura murmured, a hand on Adrian’s forehead as he thrashed. “I can only afford to destroy magic once, and I must do that against Haggar.”

“Can’t you just give him a ton of Altean energy, then?” Lance asked, desperate. As soon as Adrian had screamed, Matt had sprinted to the bridge and fetched the Shiro, Allura, and Coran. Coran was waiting in the hallway, and the others were in Hunk and Pidge’s room, waiting.

She shook her head. “He would only be able to handle so much magic without dissolving into pure energy. And even that wouldn’t lift the curse. The Galra magic would only keep accumulating.”

“We have a solution for the curse—cinquefoil. Pidge made Matt an amulet that he left in his cave that saved him from the curse, but I have cinquefoil in my house. If we could just send a runner—”

“No, there’s not enough ti—” She stared. “Wait, an amulet?”

Lance nodded, eyes still trailing his sick brother.

“Like this?” Lance looked up at her as she pulled a charm dangling on a leather strap out of her pocket. It had roots spiraling around its simply carved wooden surface, with rue and yellow cinquefoil flowers attached. He nodded, dumbfounded, about to ask where she found it when she cut him off. “I was examining it in Matt’s cave when we left, and forgot I was still holding it until we were on our way back. It’s the cure?”

He shook his head slightly, staring at it in incredulity. “Not quite. It won’t lift the curse, but it will resist any Galran magic not already part of his system. A sort of way to stall for time, until we can destroy Haggar.”

“Good enough,” the queen said, and looped it around Adrian’s neck. His convulsions slowed—but only slightly. His eyes cracked open, his gaze finding Lance’s.

“L—lance,” he croaked. “I—dying—please—”

The selkie was at his side in a moment, clutching his hand so tightly he feared he might break it. “No, Adrian, you won’t—” There were tears pouring down his face now, but he barely noticed them. “You—we—I can’t—”

His brother cracked a smile, small, weak, but genuine. A smile for Lance’s sake, to comfort _him,_ of all fae. “I—I love—you. Tell them—I love—them too.”

“You’ll be able to tell them, Adrian, I know, please—”

“Lance,” Adrian said, fixing the selkie with a steady stare. “I know. T—tell them. Pr—promise.”

It was the hardest thing Lance had ever done, but he took a shuddering breath, pasted a smile on his face, and nodded. “Alright, Adrian. I promise. I love you, too. You know that, right?”

Another smile ghosted over Adrian’s face as his eyes slipped closed. He nodded almost imperceptibly. Lance could feel the moment his consciousness left him—not dead or gone yet, still in the throes of the Galra corruption—but unless they could flush his system in the next few minutes, he would never wake up again.

Lance desperately didn’t want to have to keep his promise.

He whirled to face Allura, tears and fear and grief welling up inside him until they spilled out in a shout. “Help him! Save him, Allura, please!”

She stared at him helplessly, eyes wide and terrified and so young despite her years, and Lance felt his blood freeze. Allura didn’t have a clue what to do—this was unprecedented. It was either try and make a last ditch effort to save a boy that could be past saving or save the kingdom from a massive threat. There was no choice, really—but that didn’t mean Lance was okay with it. Just because she couldn’t destroy the Galran magic didn’t mean she couldn’t remove it…

“Use me!” Lance cried, eyes flashing with frenzied hope. “Use me as a vessel! Push all his Galran core into me, instead!”

Allura stared. “But that could kill you, Lance!”

“It’s me or him!” he shouted, flinging out an arm, gesturing at Adrian. The ghostlights that surrounded him were dimming at an alarming rate. While Haggar’s plan might’ve been to simply convert Alteans to Galra and feast on their magic, this was killing him. And it would kill Hunk and Pidge too, the entire kingdom, if they couldn’t figure out something to do about it. “Please, Allura, I can’t let him die!”

The queen looked at him as if there was a war going on in her head before she finally nodded swiftly. Lance almost fainted in relief. “I will transfer his Galran energy into you,” she said sharply. “It will be rough, but since you aren’t actively under a curse, you might survive what he isn’t able to.”

“Alright, fine, fine, just do it! We don’t have any time!”

The next few seconds passed in a blur. The queen stood in between the two brothers. She took a hand from each, raised them to the sky, her hair floating around her as her markings glowed pink. Her eyes and earrings shone, and she let out a yell.

 _Darkness._ Lance felt darkness. He had never thought of it as a tangible thing, but it was, whole and raw and all-consuming. It was hungry, unsatiated even after all its feasts, and it wanted more. The shadows, cackling and mad like a pack of hyenas, traveled from his hand up to his chest straight into his core.

They hung in space for a moment, two, before diving into his magic, shredding and tearing and giggling rabidly all the while, in a delighted frenzy as they ripped into Lance’s very soul. Wherever they touched, the light receded, and a memory sprang into his head, unbidden, unwanted, and unstoppable.

The day Lance realized he wouldn’t be able to go to the Garrison school his sister Lucia attended. The guilty jealousy he had felt, knowing it wasn’t fair, she was eons more talented, she deserved it, it wasn’t his place to envy her.

The pain that came from having two genius friends, from never quite fitting in. The days where he would find himself wandering alone, trying to make ends meet, and come back only to find Hunk and Pidge animatedly engaged in some conversation light years ahead of Lance’s comprehension. The days when he would quietly walk by their room and not disturb them, just go to the ocean to let the currents carry away the pain.

Seeing Keith for the first time, in his real form, and being caught in the struggle of what to do. Being afraid he was being a traitor to his family, to his friends, to his kingdom. Discovering it was so much worse than what he’d feared.

Adrian falling ill with the curse, realizing he had let down his family when they had needed him most. The all-encompassing guilt, the shame, that had weighed down on him ever since. He was their big brother, and he had failed them all.

Watching Keith pinned down by Haxus, bleeding and dying and about to have his throat ripped out. The unholy terror of the moment, the burst of adrenaline that had caused him to whip a knife into the Galra’s neck and take a life.

Haxus’s death shriek replayed over and over, his body falling limp and gurgling blood as he fell off of Keith, the knife that Lance had thrown sticking out of the Galra’s burnt flesh. The horrible guilt that came from killing another faerie, from knowing he was no longer clean. He had admitted it to the others, too—what could they possibly think of him now? He was a killer.

Learning Pidge and Hunk had the curse, too, the look of terror on their faces, the pain and the sweat and the godawful coughing and the paleness. The dim light of dark ghostlights. The unspoken cost of what would happen if they couldn’t figure out a solution. Feeling so utterly useless as the others had planned, having nothing to contribute himself. Being worthless.

Keith’s face, terrified from the other side of purple crackling light, promising Lance he had a plan. A plan that didn’t involve him dying. A plan Lance didn’t trust for a minute—Haggar was there, and she would kill him, and there was nothing Keith could do. The sickening knowledge that as soon as the barrier had gone up, Keith’s death had been assured. And there had been nothing Lance could do.

Lance could never do anything. He was worthless, useless. He didn’t know why anyone kept him around—a laugh, maybe, a joke. So they could chuckle at his pointless flirting, because being the comic relief was all he was good for. Everyone else was so skilled—he was just Lance. Always, just Lance.

The darkness inside him cackled, expanding and enveloping everything in sight.

He could fight it; there was still light within him. He could feel it as it slipped away.

_Just Lance. You’ll always be just Lance._

_Incompetent, worthless, useless._

_Just Lance._

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take over.

. . .

Light was pushing its way past his eyelids; someone was gently shaking his shoulder; they were saying his name, over and over again. He groaned, trying to bat them away, but his arms felt like blocks of lead strapped to his chest.

Lance pried his eyelids open—Allura was staring at him, concern in her wide aqua eyes. “Lance? You’re awake! Thank Alfor, I was panicking.”

“Wha—what happened?” he croaked, managing to turn his head to look around the room. He was in Adrian’s sick room, in the other bed. Sheets had haphazardly been thrown over him, and he felt like crap. “I—”

“Shh…” the queen murmured. “You’re alright, now. You survived the procedure. You now have Galran core inside of you—it nearly overpowered you, too. I just barely managed to stop it from consuming you.” Lance felt a rush of shame—he had given up, given in to the darkness. How pathetic was that? He—

“Now, Lance, I can see those gears of yours turning,” Allura said sternly. “Don’t you dare blame that on yourself. You saved your brother, nearly sacrificing yourself in the process. That was a lot of completely corrupted Galra core, and you survived. That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been alive for 10,000 years. So don’t you dare beat yourself up about weakening under an intense barrage of dark magical energy. I could feel it as it rushed through me—I could barely take it, and it hardly touched me.”

“But—”

“No, I refuse to hear it,” she said, pushing a finger against his lips. “Your brother is now completely cleansed, and the amulet is working to resist the curse. I can actually feel his core, and it’s whole again. You saved someone today, Lance.”

“Not everyone,” he mumbled. “Pidge, Hunk, Keith. They’re still in danger.”

Her gaze hardened. “Not if we can destroy Haggar first.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, concerned. Were they going to have to make a choice? Allura’s life for the others’ lives? “It will take a lot of magic, won’t it? And you just did all of this—”

The queen cut him off with a hard stare. “My father, when he decided to destroy Daibazaal, was able to do it in a single day. We spent the first years of the war trying to reason with the Galra—when it became obvious there was no more reasoning that could be done, that very day my father assembled a team to destroy the core. And he did, and he didn’t have 10,000 years worth of magic stored within him. I will be able to destroy the core—but we need to do it soon. Before it’s too late for everyone.”

He almost opened his mouth and argued—until he realized how insanely strong Allura was being. He could feel her terror—maybe it was just his empathy magic sensing it, but the fear rolled off her in waves. She was determined to not let the dread show, masking it, determined to be brave. Anything he said to try and dissuade her would only detract from the bravery she was showing—and he couldn’t do that.

So he nodded, smiling slightly. “I believe you, Queen Allura. You’re your father’s daughter.”

Her eyes shone. “Thank you, Lance McClain. Your family is proud of you.”

He cocked his head. “They haven’t heard, though.”

She smiled. “But I, and Hunk, and Pidge have.”

He closed his eyes—he could feel the darkness roiling inside of him, trying to take over his mind, his consciousness. It screamed that he was worthless, to lash out at Allura, that he was nothing but the shadows could make him everything.

They shrieked as his light burned them away, forcing them back. The darkness wasn’t gone—it just couldn’t hope to be as strong as his light.

A wide smile curved his mouth as his eyes fluttered open. “Thank you. Your family is proud, as well.”

Her grin was as bright as the sun.

. . .

They were on the bridge—Allura turned into a caladrius to relieve most of Lance’s fatigue and pain, and a runner had been sent to gather cinquefoil. With strings of it tied around Pidge and Hunk’s wrists, they were able to walk out of the sick bay, if with Matt’s support. The Pride of Marmora were waiting in a small cluster, watching silently as the plan finally unfolded.

The other McClains had come with the flower when they heard the news of Adrian, and they were clustered in his room, waiting for him to wake up. For a single second, Lance had been tempted to join them—but he knew that he had to see this through.

He had been the first to learn of the Galra invasion, and he would see it ended. He might not have anything to offer to Allura, lacking core magic, but he could still be there to support them.

They didn’t speak—it felt almost sacred, a pure silence before they made their final stand. This was it—fae could die. The Queen of Altea could die, or the Witch Queen of Daibazaal could die—or both. There would be deaths tonight. A truth all acknowledged, but none spoke aloud.

Coran and Matt joined Allura in a circle, facing inward, hands grasping. Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance stood around them, watching silently as the three nodded to one another.

They raised their joined hands to the sky, eyes and markings flashing as they yelled in unison. Crackling energy rose from them, gathered in a steadily growing orb of glowing, swirling magic in the center. It was pink, teal, bronze—all of those, but none at the same time. It was magic in its very purest form, and it belonged to the kingdom. It _was_ the kingdom.

The magic pulled at Lance, tugging at him no matter how hard he tried to resist. He pulled away from it, not letting himself interfere.

It was stronger, and dove within him.

Abruptly, the room went dark.

Light flickered back on, but he wasn’t Lance anymore—he was Allura, unimaginable power surging through his veins, determination making him strong, his fear pushed to the side where it couldn’t hurt them, ready to die for the kingdom that he loved. In a blinding barrage of images, he saw his—her—life, her father, her friends fall around her. He saw a dark-skinned phoenix, he saw a younger, softer Keith, he saw happiness. He saw the Galra that ripped all that away, and the burning hatred for those that hurt her family.

His magic fluctuated, and he was Hunk. Standing on the sidelines, worried—he saw his own face as the golem cradled his unconscious form, and he registered the surprise that flooded Hunk’s mind as he felt another presence. He was able to stop the memories, this time, and jumped to another body.

He was Pidge now—the darkness chipped away at him, but he held, as he had been holding for a day now. He was terrified as he watched his brother, just recently reunited, stand with Allura and Coran and destroy the core; he would be up there, too, if his Galran core wasn’t too much of a risk. He noticed someone—himself—in his head and smiled.

Lance took his magic and left her, flowing into a new body. His energy took him into Matt, Coran, Shiro—he never stayed long in each form. There was someone else he was looking for.

His consciousness flew, out of the Castle, out of Altea—it smashed through the purple barrier as if it were crêpe paper, soaring through a kingdom he’d never navigated before. It knew just where to go, though, spiraling down a staircase in a dark room, settling into a snarling boy’s body at the bottom.

He was Keith, now—injured, proud, bewildered at the new consciousness sharing his mind. A whip of energy surged out, taking advantage of his momentary distraction—he dodged in response to the other presence’s fear.

He had recovered from his shock, and was circling Haggar, dagger in hand, limping slightly. His left arm hung limp at his side, claw marks in his back slowly sapping his strength. Everything hurt, but the fury he felt burned away the pain.

He was losing—the witch lunged out with lightning, taunting, teasing him, and he was too slow. He stumbled to a knee, forcing himself back up.

The presence—no, _he_ was the presence—cried out, worry for him flooding his mind.

Lance pulled back, just the slightest bit—he was no longer Keith, just sharing Keith’s brain space. The púca sent him a silent question as he dodged away, more feelings and images than anything.

He sent back images of magic, of emotion, of seeing through the others’ minds. A lightning strike hit Keith in the chest, sending them flying back against the wall.

Keith replied with emotions that essentially meant ‘go away,’ combined with worry and underlying pride. He wanted Lance to leave, for fear that if he was killed with Lance sharing his mind, the selkie would die, too.

Lance sent back stubborn refusal, an idea coming to him. Haggar was working with the full power of her magic—Keith had nothing but a knife, and hadn’t landed a single stroke. If Lance could channel more magic to Keith, maybe free it finally—he would at least have a chance.

The púca refused, trying to push Lance out while simultaneously dodging Haggar’s attacks, which were coming even faster, even stronger.

Lance insisted, pleading, sending over anything that could possibly convince Keith. The most powerful emotion was fear—deep, overwhelming fear that Keith would die, shadowed by the reason that the idea scared him so much. He wondered if Keith caught a glimpse of it before he carefully sealed that particular emotion away.

Another wave of lightning ripped through Keith’s body, causing his head to fly back and his throat to let a horrible scream tear loose. The sound shook Lance to his core—he could feel Keith weakening with every shivering step.

He knew Keith couldn’t hear Lance’s words, but still he pleaded.

_Please, Keith. Trust me. Please._

Like a dam giving way, a door opened in Keith’s mind, allowing him grudging access to his magic. The púca was scared, terrified about what could happen with his twisted magic—but he trusted Lance. After everything, with his evil, deadly mother trying to murder him—a pain Lance couldn’t even begin to imagine—he still trusted Lance. Maybe with his life.

Lance dove into his magic without another word.

He was a tsunami, a vast ocean, surrounding a beach where two creatures fought. One was a snow-white stallion, gleaming and strong and beautiful; the other was a scarlet-eyed goblin, slavering and dark and mad.

In a second, Lance realized they were both Keith—Keith’s magic wasn’t just the bright horse, it was also the dark goblin. His magic was literally fighting against itself, tearing itself apart as the two creatures circled.

 _Not anymore,_ Lance thought. He was the sea, enormous and powerful, and he would stop the fight—he would unite Keith’s magic. Just being within his core showed Lance the enormous untapped potential the púca possessed—he just had to free it, first.

He let his magic build up inside of him, growing into a massive wave that towered over the beach where the two facets of Keith fought on, oblivious—and finally, he let his power crash down on top of them.

Lance was instantly hit with a slew of memories, strong enough to overpower his own identity—he was Keith, and he was Lance, and the world was swirling water and magic and he had yet to come up for air.

A boy with gold eyes and dark skin, with a ruby phoenix hanging from a pointed ear, faced him on top of a rooftop. Overwhelming emotion surfaced at the faerie’s face, as they stared out at the stars together. He—no, Keith—kissed the boy, laughing softly under the glittering sky.

He was sparring, chuckling, with a young girl—a young Allura, with the phoenix boy sitting in a tree and calling out comments, egging them on. Allura knocked his feet out from under him with her staff, and stood over him, grinning triumphantly, before offering him a hand to stand back up. He took it.

A cold family dinner, in a room with no ornaments, sitting on one side of a long table. His mother—a woman with a  gray-purple bun and animated eyes—talked to his father—a tall, bald man with a stern gaze but warmth in his eyes for his wife. His brother sat across from him, smooth-skinned and tan with long white hair, flicking food at him with a fork when their parents weren’t looking.

His father yelling at him, older now, a war helmet in place and a furious scowl on his face as he placed a hand on Lotor’s shoulder. He ran, ran far away, all the way to Altea, where he sobbed in the warm, strong arms of a phoenix.

He fell asleep, then dreamed for 10,000 years, then woke up with no sense of time, only a deep, all-encompassing pain in his chest. He fought wildly against the Galra surrounding him, fleeing into the forest, back to the cave that was miraculously still there, and wept for ten millennia worth of loss.

Meeting Shiro, a kindred soul, having a real family for the first time in thousands of years—having him snatched away, losing him again, working tirelessly to find him. Finding Matt instead, protecting him and taking him in, giving him shelter, abandoning his search for Shiro because it wasn’t just him anymore—he had someone else to take care of.

He felt terror as he saw himself—no, _Keith_ felt terror at seeing _Lance_ —knowing that he had screwed everything up, he had ruined everything, he had doomed Altea. Seeing the selkie again, and again, and not feeling terror anymore. The fear changed from annoyance to indifference to attachment.

He saw Shiro again for the first time in a year, relatively unharmed, and felt joy explode in his chest—he saw Allura for the first time in ten thousand and his chest imploded with every word she spat. _It’s true,_ circled in his mind, eating away at his strength like acid. _It’s all true._

Purple energy, and on the other side, a beautiful boy with ocean eyes, gazing at him as if he were all the stars in the sky. Feeling the same affection—realizing it might be more. Fear coursed through his veins as he realized what he had to do, what his mother would do to him—fear at leaving this boy, his friends behind. His true family. Determination to do what needed to be done, no matter what the cost.

Saying goodbye for what he truly believed to be the last time.

He was in Haggar’s lair now, listening to her growl out all the reasons he was nothing, why his friends would never trust him, why he would never be loved. Why he was weak. Offering him a mother’s love, something he’d always craved but never received. Refusing, out of sheer stubbornness, sheer bravery, sheer strength.

A thousand memories flashed past Lance’s eyes, through his head—watching white hair turn black in a mirror; soaring through the sky with a golden bird at his side; ghostlight magic surging through him, making him reckless and heady with energy; a man with a scar across his nose laughing despite trying to keep a straight face; a girl with silver hair riding on her father’s shoulders, the man offering him a turn as the girl giggled with joy; a woman emerging with a cloak covering her face, a cloak she’d never worn before, one that sent chills down his spine; sitting next to the fire with a satyr, rubbing his back as he sobbed; a freckled boy with blue eyes brewing tinctures, orbs of water floating around him.

They moved too fast for Lance to catch more than glimpses, each one sailing by on a current, propelled by Lance’s magic. Finally, his power retreated like the tide, leaving a single creature on the beach.

It—he—was a lion, red and shining and beautiful. His aura was soothing yet fiery—he was pacing, pawing at the sand, rumbling deep in his throat, but he was at peace.

The lion met Lance’s gaze, a flash of appreciation flaring behind yellow eyes, before throwing his head back and _roaring._

Lance sat up with a start—he was back in the Castle, and Hunk was peering at him with worry in his warm gaze. He ignored the golem, standing up on wobbly knees, running toward the trio and their enormous orb of energy. Sweat was trickling down all of their brows—Matt and Coran were contributing, yes, pushing everything they had into the effort, but the major force was the Queen—and as such, she was also the one truly in danger. Allura swayed where she stood as she poured massive amounts of her own magic into the sphere—Lance could feel her, at the corner of his mind. She was almost gone.

“STOP!” he cried. “STOP!” They acted as if they couldn’t hear him—and maybe they couldn’t, with the magic roaring through their ears. “ALLURA, CALL THIS OFF! _YOU’RE GOING TO DIE FOR NO REASON!”_

The cervitaur’s eyes flickered to Lance’s, asking him a silent question—Coran had gone through with this because it was what needed to happen, it was what Allura and Alfor both had wanted, it was a necessary sacrifice. But Lance knew that his greatest wish was that Allura survive.

Lance nodded in response, and Coran’s eyes closed, thinking—before he wrenched his hands away and broke the circle. The orb of magic in the center sputtered, energy flowing back into the three that had created it—Allura collapsed as soon as the connection broke, but the selkie was there to catch her and lay her gently on the floor.

Everyone turned to Lance, emotions ranging from outright fury to deep concern on their faces—the Queen’s eyes flickered open, a storm of fire raging inside. “Lance! Explain yourself, now. We did not just spend all that time and magic so you could break it at the last second—we were about to succeed, Lance, I felt it.”

He felt the same judgement in everyone’s gaze, and took a shaking breath. He had to explain himself—and he had to pray Keith succeeded, that the extra burst of magic was what he needed to gain the advantage.

It was all in Keith’s hands, now. Lance almost hated how completely he trusted the púca. All logic dictated that he shouldn’t—and yet he did.

That stupid Mullet.

Lance exhaled one last time and simply said, “Hunk? Coran? Shiro? I need you to scry Keith for me.”

The three with sight gathered in a circle—Lance pulled water out of the air at their nod, creating a slate of shimmering mist for them to scry through—and concentrated.

Lance stared at the mist as they searched, praying that the scene it would show hadn’t gone horribly, horribly wrong.

For Keith’s sake… and the entire kingdom’s.

* * *

 

When Lance’s presence left his body, Keith was left reeling.

First—he had known Lance was powerful, had seen it even when the selkie himself hadn’t been able to. But being able to send his consciousness all this way _and_ unite his magic once and for all? That was an insane level of power—on par with Allura and Haggar level of crazy magic.

Second—Lance _had_ united his magic. He could feel it, a roar in his core that hadn’t been there prior, a strange sense of control and peace overtaking him. He wasn’t fighting himself anymore, and an enormous weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had been lifted off his back. He felt as light as a bird, as bright as the sun. If there were ghostlights in the area, Keith was sure they would’ve burst from being near the sheer power Keith felt pouring out of himself.

Third—the minute Lance had left, Haggar had sent a barrage of lightning screaming at him, knocking him back into the wall. His left arm was still useless, numbed by electricity, the nerves failing to respond—his legs were beginning to fail him, but still he rose to his feet.

He felt the magic surging within him, and brought it to the surface. The raw power made him heady, made him feel invincible. He was powerful, for the first time in his life, and he was truly dangerous.

He smirked. Maybe he was his mother’s son, after all.

Haggar snarled. _Whatever puny power you may possess, boy, is nothing compared to mine. What are you going to do, read my core?_

“Maybe,” Keith whispered, and let his eyes glow with crimson light as he became one with his magic for the first time in his prolonged life.

He felt a horrible dark presence near him, the core crackling with unnatural energy. Haggar, in a clarity he’d never seen before. It was like he’d had blurry vision his whole life and someone had finally given him glasses.

His sight expanded further, until he could see the whole kingdom. He could see each worker, each corrupted Galra—he could tell who had chosen this life, who was loyal to Zarkon, and who was a slave to their blackened core. He felt them all work together in like gears in an enormous clock—and he had suddenly become the clockmaker.

His view grew even further, until he could feel Altea—inside the Castle, even. He felt the varying purple cores of the Pride, waiting in stony silence in the bridge. He saw Coran’s teal light, scrying along with Hunk’s yellow and Shiro’s black, all worried but miraculously safe. He felt the curse eating away at Pidge’s green core, as well as the golem’s—he saw Allura’s bright pink core, grayed with exhaustion. Matt’s bronze core hovered near Pidge’s—and next to them was Lance’s pure blue. It was stained, though, with the purple-black of the Galra—there was no curse plaguing him, but he was part Galra.

Most importantly, he was alive. They all were. And they were counting on him.

He turned his focus back to the room he stood in—he saw an evil, dark core, yes. But now he saw a blazingly red one, almost as strong and furious and defiant. He knew then that he was finally a match for his mother. He was no longer weak.

She knew it, too, and she screamed, unleashing a volley of lightning so powerful it shook the earth.

Keith had felt it coming, and side-stepped it neatly, focusing in on her core as he advanced on her.

Her magic swelled whenever she readied an attack of lightning—the way her core shifted clued him into her movements—it crackled even more frantically as he drew closer. She was scared; that gave him unimaginable confidence.

Soon, he had her in a corner, dodging easily the blasts of lightning she shot out, keeping her pressed against the wall with deft maneuvering of his knife. He gazed deeper into her core than he’d ever been able to, pushing her defenses aside like they were made of paper, like her lightning storm was no more than the static electricity he’d feel from rubbing his hair with a balloon.

He saw a glamour, buried deep, and flicked out a finger. A spurt of purple flame flew from it, hit her face, burned away the magic that had kept her hidden. She shrieked in hatred, but Keith wouldn’t let her recast it. He drew closer, growled in Galran, _Well, Mother, let’s see what_ you _were hiding._

He pushed back her hood and nearly gasped, just barely managing to keep his grip on his knife and magic. He probed with his magic—yes, everything confirmed it, Haggar had just buried it too deep for anyone to find.

She had a long, red Altean marking on either cheek—and, far under everything, she didn’t have a corrupted Galran core. She had a corrupted Altean one.

He scowled. _You’re Altean,_ he spat. _You’re Altean, and yet you attack them, kill your own people. Their core is your core, and yet you destroy it!_

 _They’re not my people,_ she hissed. _Alfor wouldn’t let me continue my experiments on the Altean core, so I left for Daibazaal to see if the Galran Emperor would be more accommodating. I shaped this core; I lived off of it, for 10,000 years! This is my kingdom now, even if I remain linked to Altea. And I don’t seek to destroy Altea—I seek to convert them, to become what I’ve become and bask in the glory of the Galra._

Keith’s mouth curled in disgust. _I might share your blood, but I am nothing like you. You disgust me, Haggar._

She smirked—still nauseatingly cocky, even when pinned against a wall. _No more ‘Mother’? A shame, truly, my son. Because even if you live, even if you kill me and escape back to your Altean friends, they will only see a killer. A monster who killed his own mother, who spoke Galran, who looks like their greatest enemy. They’re watching us right now, son—they see you snarling in this language. They’ll never know what was said, but they’ll never be able to trust you for it._

Keith was silent—Haggar took it as a sign to continue talking, smile widening to show her pointed teeth. _Everytime they look at you, they’ll see me. They’ll see an enemy. You’re a monster, Keith, just like—_

A dagger was in her stomach before she could hiss another poisonous word. Her eyes widened in surprise as she scrabbled weakly at it, trying to call lightning to her palm but too weak and shocked to do so.

Keith kept a hand on the dagger, even as the hilt grew hotter and hotter with some unseen energy—it almost looked like darkness was swirling from Haggar as she screamed, darkness streaming into the blade, but he couldn’t be sure.

He would not let the blade go; he would not let her get away—the Witch Queen of Daibazaal would finally die.

The hilt in his hand was unbearably hot, Haggar’s screams unbearably loud in his ears—when she finally burst into dark energy, winking out into nothingness.

The power of it sent a shockwave through the cavern, and Keith went flying, knife still clutched tightly in his hand.

Darkness enveloped him before he crashed into the wall.

* * *

 

Lance had the most bizarre feeling of being watched—but he shook it off as Hunk, Shiro, and Coran were able to pull up an image on the mist.

It was fuzzy, dark—but a figure that was unmistakably Keith was facing off against a figure unmistakably Haggar. The witch screamed inaudibly and released an enormous barrage of lightning—but Keith had her fixed with a calm stare and stepped to the side, the lightning missing him easily.

He began walking forward, confidence pulsing off of him in waves— _His magic,_ Lance thought. _He feels it, now, can control it. It’s giving him so much more power._

She flung more electricity at him, but it all missed neatly—he never slowed in his advance until he had her pressed against a wall. Lance watched with bated breath; if Keith could pull this off, he would’ve saved Altea. He had her cornered. All her had to do was stab her, and the metal of the knife would do the rest of the work.

For some reason, he paused—the viewpoint they had was of Keith’s back, and they couldn’t see Haggar’s face at all—but she was very clearly not dead. Lance hissed in a breath—what was Keith _doing?_

All around the room, the same sentiment seemed to be echoed. All the fae staring at the mist had their eyebrows furrowed, confused, worried—why wasn’t Haggar dead yet? Why was Keith waiting?

Lance was terrified—Haggar could trick him yet. He had seen the lies she had told earlier, when he shared Keith’s mind—was she desperately trying to lie her way out of this one, too? Keith wouldn’t—couldn’t—listen to her, right?

Haggar’s sick taunts rang through his mind.

_He doesn’t love you. How could he? You’re a monster, Keith. One of the family. How could anyone love a Galra? How could anyone love Prince Keith?_

The ‘he’ was Lance—it almost made the selkie want to throw up. Who the hell gave Haggar the right to mess with Keith’s brain, to tell him he wasn’t loved? That was literally the craziest thing Lance had heard in his entire life.

He just wished Keith was here, so he could tell him that.

Instead, he was talking with his _mother,_ the witch. Another thing that made Lance feel sick. Keith had grown up in the least loving family Lance had ever seen—even when the selkie had felt like he had nothing, he had always had his family. Keith had never even had that.

Sudden movement in the mist caught his eye—Keith’s arm had shot forward, and the dagger had been plunged into Haggar’s robes. Her hands were pawing at it, but Keith kept a firm grip, and she disappeared in a cloud of pure shadow.

Keith went flying backwards, eyes fluttering closed as his head cracked against the hard stone. He lay there, still, the dagger clutched in his palm, now crackling with dark energy.

In the bridge, the Lions all fell to their knees—only Kolivan kept his feet. Coran rushed over, and the mist dissolved, taking the image of Keith with it.

As Coran checked with the Galra, to make sure their plan had succeeded and they had survived, Lance ran to Allura. The Queen was staring at where the mist had used to be in shock, eyes wide and disbelieving before they refocused.

“We need to get to Keith!” the selkie cried, almost desperate. Just because he had survived Haggar didn’t mean he would survive without the core magic of his kingdom keeping him alive. “Before he succumbs to a lost core!”

Allura nodded. “You stay here. I’ll go with Shiro and bring him back.”

“But—”

Her gaze softened, sympathetic. “I know you’re worried about him, Lance. But Shiro and I will be able to move much faster alone.”

Lance scowled—he saw the sense in her argument. He just didn’t like it. “Fine.”

She smiled slightly. “I promise I’ll bring him back, Lance.”

The selkie’s scowl melted as he tried for a weak grin in return. “Thank you, ‘Llura.”

Her mouth curved into a smile as a reply, and she ran to get Shiro. They both turned into birds—a faerie-size caladrius and a slightly-larger-than-average eagle—and flew out the skylight.

Lance watched them until they were specks in the distance, and waited.

* * *

 

When Keith heard voices and saw light behind his eyelids, he was almost convinced he was in the afterlife.

Except the afterlife wouldn’t hurt so goddamn badly.

He cracked his eyes open, squinting against the light—he was in one of the sick beds, and several other fae were standing in the room. Matt was talking with Pidge and Hunk in the corner, Shiro was sitting on the end of the bed, Allura was having a quiet conversation with Coran, seated on the extra cot in the room, and Lance was pacing back and forth, shooting glances Keith’s way every once and a while.

None of them had seemed to notice that he was awake yet, and he was tempted to slip back to sleep. Being awake was painful—he didn’t feel like he was on the cusp of death, so there was no harm in catching a few more winks, right?

His eyes slid shut, but before he could surrender himself to unconsciousness, Lance’s voice cried out.

“Keith!” The púca forced his eyelids open again—Lance was running toward him. “Oh my God, Keith, you’re awake!”

The selkie grabbed his shoulders—and kissed him in his excitement, right on the mouth.

Keith had never felt less asleep in his life; his hand ghosted to his lips as he flushed red, staring at Lance in silent wonder. The selkie had gone red, appearing to have just realized what he’d done, and stammered. “Uh—I—God, I’m—I’m sorry, Keith, ah—”

Keith just smiled softly and tenderly pulled Lance back in, ignoring the pain arcing through his body—pain that disappeared when he kissed Lance again, slow and long and sweet.

When they broke away, the selkie was staring at him with awe in those ocean-blue eyes, a smile curving gently on his face, and Keith kind of wanted to kiss him again—but it occurred to him they weren’t alone, and he flushed darker, ears pushing back reflexively.

Lance seemed to come to the same conclusion, and stumbled away, bright red and slightly dazed, leaning into Hunk’s side and whispering something. Keith laid back down in an attempt to appease his aching limbs, unable to keep a smile off his face as he watched the selkie go.

Shiro appeared in his field of vision, smirking slightly. “You’ve really got it bad, haven’t you, little brother?”

Keith wasn’t even able to bring himself to scowl. “Oh, shut up.”

“And the comebacks! It’s clear Lance hasn’t scrambled your brain, with wit like that.”

“Come off it, Shiro.”

His brother grinned wide. “Alright, Keith,” he said, and leaned down to embrace him. “I’m so, so glad you’re safe. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Keith smiled, fighting back the tears that wanted to pool in his eyes as he returned the hug, albeit weakly. His arms still felt like they were about to fall off—hell, he wouldn’t have been surprised if his brain slid out his ear at this point. Everything felt unsteady, off, wrong—except for this reunion, being surrounded by the fae he considered his _real_ family.

That felt completely right.

Shiro backed away, and the two Legacies came up to him. Allura and Keith locked eyes, stuck in a staring contest that Keith didn’t quite know the rules for—and then the Queen flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and whispering.

“Thank God you’re alright—I was terrified. I thought you were going to die, at your own goddamn mother’s hands. You were right, Keith—not all Galra are evil, and you least of all. You’re a hero, Keith. You saved my life, and you saved my kingdom.”

“Not without help,” he replied softly. “It was a team effort, ‘Llura.”

She pulled back slightly, fixing him with a stare. “But you killed Haggar, Keith. And that is quite possibly the hardest thing you could’ve ever done. I know what she meant to you, Keith. Thank you, for your sacrifice.”

“I didn’t love her, Allura.”

“I know,” she replied, her eyes betraying her true age. “But you loved what a mother should be, and you lost that. You lost that the minute you were born.”

He was only able to nod, swallowing against the hot ball of emotion in his throat, as she moved gracefully away.

Coran waited a respectful second before bending down to quickly hug him. “Thank you, my boy, for Allura’s life. If it wasn’t for you and Lance…” he trailed off, eyes unfocused, watching some distant nightmare. He coughed, drawing away. “Thank you, again, Keith.”

The cervitaur winked before he walked away. “And nice work on finally rendering our dear selkie speechless—I wasn’t sure if it would ever happen.” Keith flushed and Coran grinned, gently clopping off to stand at Allura’s side.

Hunk approached him next—he scooped him into a bear hug, nearly breaking all of Keith’s bones, before gently letting him go and smiling down at him, tears tracking their way down his face. “Thank you, Keith—I mean, for everything, but mostly,” he shot a glance over his shoulder, where Lance was laughing with Pidge and Matt, “for making him so happy. You really do—except when you’re engaging in life-threatening witch battles, in which case, he is very distinctly unhappy. But otherwise, y’know—”

Keith smiled, cutting the golem off. “I do. I—I’m glad. I was… worried.”

Hunk grinned. “Worried that Lance didn’t like you? He’s head over tail, Keith.” The púca blushed, and Hunk grinned wider. “I can see you are, too. I can’t wait to get to know you better, y’know, really meet my best friend’s boyfriend.”

Keith sputtered, and the golem laughed as he walked away. Keith had to agree with Hunk—he did look forward to getting to know him better. Wartime was difficult on personal relationships.

Matt came up to his bed next, little sister right beside him. She looked so much better than when Keith had first seen her—her wings were flickering behind her and had regained their shine, the bags under her eyes had disappeared, and there was so much more life in her gaze. Matt, too, looked drastically improved, just being safe with his sister making him so much brighter.

Pidge grinned at him. “Y’know, I expect to be invited to the wedding.”

The satyr rolled his eyes, whacking her lightly on the head. “Keith just woke up from a coma after killing the most powerful faerie in existence. Cut him some slack, sis.”

“Point taken, but he also kissed my best friend—who’s a total dork, by the way. That definitely costs him some cool points.”

“Hey, I shut him up for once, didn’t I?” Keith replied, smirking. Pidge’s smile widened.

“I think I like you,” she said. “That’s very true, I wasn’t sure if anyone was ever going to manage to humble him. You can have your cool points back.”

“I appreciate it, Pidge,” he said. “We should talk, sometime. Exchange embarrassing stories?”

A wicked grin curved the pixie’s mouth. “Sounds like a date.” Her expression settled, turning more serious. “Thank you, Keith. For everything.”

He nodded, smiling in reply, and she left, walking back to Hunk and Lance.

It was just Matt left; the satyr smiled sadly, watching Pidge walk away. “I was beginning to think I would never see her again. To think, I was staying away so I could avoid giving her a curse I didn’t have but she caught anyway—” He laughed, a wet chuckle that betrayed the emotions boiling under his surface. “The world is cruel, isn’t it?”

“But we’re all alive,” Keith said. “That was more than I’d ever hoped for.”

“Yeah, after you nearly sacrificed yourself, going up to Haggar like that. I never in a million years would’ve guessed you were literally going straight to the witch. What if we hadn’t found you in time? You would’ve died, without the Galran core.”

“I had a plan, Matt. The knife Lance gave me—it functions like a mini kingdom. I was hoping that would sustain me if I succeeded in killing Haggar.”

“Still. Trying to kill Haggar was risky.”

“It was all a huge risk, Matt.”

“I know,” the satyr said. “And thank you. The curse lifted the moment Haggar died—you saved my sister.” He leaned down and embraced Keith quickly. “Now, would you like to know what happened after you destroyed that witch?”

Keith nodded, and Matt motioned everyone over. “It’s storytime, guys. Keith has some burning questions and I hope we have some answers.”

They all gathered in a semi-circle around Keith’s bed, Lance sitting on the floor near the púca’s head, smiling up at him. Keith smiled back, before returning his focus to the others—all of whom had been watching the silent exchange with amused grins on their faces. Keith flushed—he really needed to work on controlling that.

Allura clapped her hands together. “So, Keith, what would you like to know?”

Keith scowled. “Why my entire body hurts, for starters. I mean, I get that I had a huge battle and everything, but most of the wounds were superficial.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Superficial my ass. I was literally in your head, Keith! You couldn’t move your arm! You could barely walk!”

“But still, Allura could’ve easily—”

“Alright, alright,” the queen interrupted. “Enough with the old married couple bickering.” Both boys blushed at the comment, clamming up immediately; Allura grinned. “But anyway, yes, Keith—I was able to reach you quickly and heal your wounds, which was good, given that you had a really bad gash in your head and a couple of limbs that weren’t responding. As for why you feel weak now… well, it’s because of this.”

She pulled a dagger out of her pocket almost gingerly—it was Keith’s knife, the one he’d used to stab Haggar. The only difference was that now it seemed to be occasionally sparking up with dark energy.

Keith looked closer and nearly gasped—the amount of magic contained within the blade was comparable to all of the magic contained within Haggar, within the entire Galran Kingdom. The púca pointed at it weakly. “Is that—you’re saying—”

Allura nodded. “Here is our take on the matter; feel free to chime in with any more information. We believe Haggar became the equivalent of the Galran core—instead of being contained in a material object, as with most kingdoms, it was stored within her. Like the Altean core is contained within me.” Keith nodded—Haggar had basically said as much in her rant.

“When you stabbed her, all of her magic, now lacking a host, became stored in the knife. It was the equivalent of the core being destroyed—all of the Galra we encountered were out of commission—but the magic did not dissipate. Instead, the entirety of the Galran core is held within your knife.

“The only thing we can’t seem to explain is why you woke up. In theory, you should have either absorbed the Galran core from the knife, becoming as powerful and and as dark as Haggar, or gone into a coma. When we found you with the knife, it was thrown across the room—but when you destroyed Haggar, it was clutched in your hand. We suspect you pushed the magic in the knife away subconsciously, unwilling to let the Galran magic flood you and corrupt you. But, if you pushed away the Galran magic and the mini kingdom created by the knife, you would’ve had no core magic to sustain you. So we’re not sure how—”

“I know why,” Keith interrupted. “Haggar was Altean. I’m half Galran, half Altean. I must’ve survived off my Altean core.”

Lance gasped. “That must be why your magic was so at odds—in your mind, there was a white stallion, and a black goblin. I thought that the goblin was just some weird Galra corruption? But it really represented your Galra side, and the horse was your Altean side, and they were fighting. When I finally joined them, they became a red lion.” The selkie laid a hand on Keith’s arm, closing his eyes. Keith felt Lance in his mind, trying to reach his magic, and he let him.

A second or two later, Lance’s eyes flew open. “Yeah, it must be your Altean magic—only the horse is left within you, and it’s weakened.”

Allura and Matt stared in shock. “But—I searched your core,” Matt stammered. “I felt nothing but Galran magic. How—?”

The queen met his gaze, equally bewildered. “I’ve known his core for 10,000 years, and I never saw anything different about it, either. I never even considered Haggar could be Altean.”

“She hid it,” Keith replied. “Really, really deep. It was only after Lance helped unite my magic—my Altean and Galran side, I guess—that I was able to see it. She used a glamour to hide her markings. I would guess Zarkon knew, but no one else.”

They fell silent, all mulling this strange turn of events over, when another question occurred to Keith. “If I’m weak because I’m lacking my Galran core, what about the fae Haggar cursed? Adrian, Pidge, Hunk?”

Hunk smiled slightly. “Yeah, I’m a little off. Better than when I was under the curse, though. I feel—cleaner, I guess. No offense, but that corrupted Galran magic did not agree with my system.”

Pidge nodded. “Same—I’m worse than he is, because he didn’t have much Galran magic in the first place, but I’m okay.”

“What about Adrian, then?” Keith asked, concerned. “Is he…?” He didn’t want to finish the sentence, for fear of the answer. If Adrian had—well, it would’ve broken Lance. He seemed alright—unless he was just acting for Keith’s sake. What if he—

Lance rested a hand on Keith’s arm, instantly calming him down. “Settle down, Samurai. I can feel your pulse jumping from here. My brother is completely fine—not even a trace of Galra magic in him.”

“Then how—” Keith remembered the dark stain on Lance’s blue core. “Did—”

The selkie smiled. “He was about to die, so I asked Allura to funnel the cursed magic into me. Miraculously, I survived.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “That’s practically suicidal, Lance! You could’ve—”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Says the faerie who walked straight toward the most dangerous witch on the planet. Yeah, I know. But I couldn’t let him die.”

The púca was tempted to argue more—but he knew nothing he said could change anything, and everything had worked out for the best, regardless. And from the peace in Lance’s eyes, it was clear he was content with his decision, with his almost-sacrifice.

It was honestly incredibly brave and selfless, and Keith didn’t want to detract from that by arguing the point. “I know. That’s one of the amazing things about you.”

Lance blushed, freckles standing sharply out against the reddening skin—Keith was able to ignore the fake gagging and coos from the others by trying to commit every one of those freckles to memory. The selkie finally found his voice, coughing in embarrassment, saying, “So, yeah. It was a lot of Galra core, and I lost all of it when you destroyed Haggar. Which was cleansing, but now I’m kinda unsteady. I’ll be fine, though.”

Keith nodded, scanning the group, when he noticed something—Shiro’s arm was still lined with lightning scars, but they were flesh colored instead of pulsing purple. Much more alarmingly, his arm was hanging limp at his side. “Shiro? Your arm?”

His brother glanced down and winced. “Ah, yeah. That. It turns out, after Haggar experimented on me, it was only Galra magic that kept it functioning. For now, I can’t move it. I’ll probably have to amputate.”

“Isn’t there something we can do?” Keith asked. “The Galran magic is still in the blade, after all. Couldn’t we just… remove a little bit?”

Allura shook her head adamantly. “That knife is like a beaver dam holding back the ocean—it’s somehow working, but if we try to remove just the slightest bit of magic, we’ll open the floodgates. I still think we—”

Coran interrupted her. “What she’s trying to say, my boy, is that the knife is your property. We each have a course of action we support, but Lance strongly advocated that the knife was yours, and as such, it was your decision to make. We agreed that he was probably right.”

“What—what are my options, then?”

The queen spoke. “I believe you should destroy it, and its magic along with it. There’s nothing to be gained by keeping it around and everything to be lost.”

“Pidge and I have been studying old records,” Matt started, “and in theory, you might be able to reestablish Daibazaal, with the knife acting as its core.”

“But wouldn’t it still be corrupted?”

“That’s the problem,” the pixie interjected. “We’re not sure. The magic is definitely still corrupted now. It’s unlikely that simply establishing a kingdom will cleanse it.”

“So we should destroy it,” said Allura. “To prevent the Galra from coming back.”

“But there are still innocent Galra out there who might die if we destroy it, or even keep the magic hoarded within the knife for too long,” Shiro added. “They might be dying right now, in fact.”

Keith frowned as the others kept debating, pointing out flaws with every proposed plan of action. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, only what he didn’t: he didn’t want the innocent Galra to die, but he definitely didn’t want to bring the evil Galra back to life and cause the war to resume.

If the core wasn’t corrupted—if only the knife had been able to purify it. Core magic was magic’s most basic, integral form—but Haggar at caused it to warp, to grow dark, to become something else than the pure magic every faerie depended on.

He absentmindedly watched a drifting ghostlight turn dark purple-black as it skimmed past the knife, only to return to pale yellow as it skated away.

And then he bolted upright—eyes fixed on the floating orb, mind whirling as the puzzle pieces frantically connected themselves.

When the finished puzzle revealed itself, Keith couldn’t help grinning.

He knew what to do.

* * *

 

Lance was wearing formal robes Allura had lent him; he had protested that he would just wreck them—they were trekking through the forest, after all—but she had just shoved them at him and wouldn’t hear any of it.

The selkie conceded it was a little bit worth it when he saw Keith in his formal clothes—dark robes trimmed with shimmering crimson, a cloak that looked like fire captured in cloth draped around his shoulders. It fit him so well that Lance suspected the outfit was millennia old, the remnants of another age.

They were currently in the forest, walking to a ghostlight spawn Keith knew of, near the center of what used to be Galra territory. It was just before sunrise, the morning too dark to navigate without magical lightning, but Allura had taken it upon herself to make the path glow a pale turquoise, casting everything in ethereal light as they walked to the spawn.

The plan really was brilliant—Lance had been a little shocked that it was Keith’s idea, given that it didn’t involve extreme personal danger. It had been refined by the others, but in essence it was Keith’s plan. Lance was proud—proud of his boyfriend.

He slipped his hand into Keith, smiling slightly as the púca threaded their fingers together.

They hadn’t had much time between Keith waking up from his coma and leaving for the ghostlight spawn—they’d definitely not had much time alone, but eventually fae had begun filtering out of the room, under different excuses. It was pretty clear that they’d been trying to give Keith and Lance some time alone—not that Lance was complaining.

It had been awkward at first, if Lance was being honest—he’d never truly been in a relationship, never felt for someone how he felt for Keith. It was terrifying, in a way, but beautiful. Lance treasured the feeling, and the memory—despite the fact that it was more than a little embarrassing.

_“So,” Lance had said, coughing slightly. “Wha—what—”_

_Keith’s pale skin had gone pink as he’d finished Lance’s thought. “What are we?”_

_The selkie had nodded, side-eyeing Keith. “I mean—what do you—do you—”_

_“I like you a lot, Lance,” Keith had said, cutting him off and taking his hand. Lance remembered staring at their fingers, intertwining. It had looked right; it still did. “I’d like to be your boyfriend, if you’ll have me.”_

_Lance had stared, an involuntary smile slowly curving his mouth, before he replied. “Yeah—I feel the same way. I’d—I’d love that.”_

_What he had meant was,_ I love you. _He still wasn’t sure if he had the courage to say it, but he knew one day he would._

_Keith’s smile had been crooked, and as bright as a ghostlight cloud._

Lance looked over at Keith, stunning in his dress clothes, and realized something he hadn’t noticed before. “You don’t have your glamour.”

“Someone once told me I would live to make the goddamn decision,” the púca replied, smiling. “I did, and I have. I don’t need it anymore.”

Lance grinned, squeezing Keith’s hand in his. “I’m glad.”

They walked on, the other members of their makeshift family trailing behind them.

. . .

Lance stepped into the clearing—he could feel the spawn swelling, right on schedule, as they all gathered around it. Keith brought out his knife, holding it somewhat gingerly—but not as carefully as one should be holding an incredibly volatile blade.

“So, the plan is I stab the spawn, and the magic will be transformed into ghostlights—ghostlights, which are pure magic, thereby purifying what Haggar corrupted. And those ghostlights can be used to bring back the Galra, in their non-corrupted form?” Keith asked, and they nodded—Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, and Allura had come into the forest, Matt and Coran staying back to man the Castle. Kolivan and Thace had also come, as representatives for the Pride and to take a part in this new ceremony.

They were all wearing their dress robes, because they weren’t merely restoring magic to those that had lost it—they were creating a new kingdom.

It had been unanimously decided that Keith choose the name, as he was the technical only remaining survivor of true Galra royalty—but when it had been suggested that he rule the new kingdom, he had adamantly refused, instead suggesting Shiro for the position.

The older púca had tried to refuse out of modesty, but after enough pressure from Allura and his brother, he agreed. Keith would still be a prince, but only honorarily, out of respect for his relation to Shiro. Pidge would be in charge of communications, of getting the kingdom up and running and maintaining a healthy magic flow. Hunk would be in charge of engineering and agriculture—designing the new buildings and roadways that would have to be created after the old Galra facilities were destroyed.

Lance was named the ambassador for the new kingdom, chosen for his aptitude with fae and his empathy magic—following in his father’s footsteps. He had never been prouder than when Shiro had approached him and asked him.

The Pride would become the security force and be the ones who helped the kingdom get back on its feet. They seemed to welcome the challenge, though they still had habits to break—habits like shifting into a cat everytime someone entered the room, in order to protect their identity, for instance. But their plans were coming together at an incredibly quick rate—now all they had to do was create the kingdom, with the purified magic from the old Galran core. The magic that would soon fill the holes in the Pride’s cores, in Shiro’s, in Pidge’s, in Hunk’s, in Keith’s, in Lance’s.

Allura stood to the side as Keith poised the knife above the flickering pocket of magic—this pouch was abnormally large, as if it sensed the important task that it was about to be given and was gathering as much power as it could for the challenge.

Shiro, Pidge, Hunk, and Lance gathered in a circle around the púca—Keith loosened his hold on the blade, and they each put a hand on it. Lance could feel the crackling energy inside, dark and powerful and malevolent, as if Haggar was screaming at them from beyond the grave.

 _Not today, you old hag,_ Lance thought. _Not ever again._

Keith looked out at them, meeting each of their eyes, meeting Lance’s. The púca smiled, and began talking. Starting the ritual, and ending what Haggar had created.

Keith was ending what his family had wrought, and creating something new out of it. Lance was so proud of him—of all of them. They’d come so far, and this was it. The culmination of everything they’d worked to accomplish.

Lance beamed, and they smiled with him.

“Today, I, Keith, Prince of the kingdom that no longer is, do create a new kingdom from its magic.” The words seemed to flow out of his boyfriend as if they were a second language, as if an ancient Altean ruler was speaking through him. “I name it after the legend of my people, and the legend of the Altean people. Their legend who brought peace and prosperity to the land, just as this kingdom shall.

“Its history will not be a glamorous one, but its future is bright with hope. Bright like the rising sun, bright like the galaxies above us, bright like the ghostlights that will cleanse our souls. Bright like our magic, and our desire to create this safe haven for all who require sanctuary.

“Today, we create the Voltric Kingdom, and we five become not its royalty, but its paladins. For we do not seek to rule, but to protect. To shield. To defend. We will fight not for politics, we will not bicker like the courts of old—we will only rise to safeguard those we have sworn to guard. We will become the champions of those who need champions, the knights of those who have lost the day, the shield and shelter for those with no place to go.

“I, Keith, Prince of the Old and Paladin of the New, do hereby pledge my fealty to the Kingdom of Voltron.” His eyes burned crimson, glowing, as he bound himself to the new kingdom and its magic. The radiance traveled down from his gaze to the hand wrapped around the hilt of the blade—it pulsed brilliantly red as it grasped the knife.

Shiro spoke next, eyes glowing purple. “I, Shiro, Púca of Light and Paladin of the New, do pledge myself to the Kingdom of Voltron.” Shiro’s hand, too, illuminated, his with violet light.

“I, Pidge, Pursuer of Knowledge and Paladin of the New, pledge myself to the Kingdom of Voltron.” The pixie’s small hand flared green, quickly followed by Hunk’s hand, awash in yellow.

“I, Hunk, Golem of Sight and Paladin of the New, pledge fealty to the Kingdom of Voltron.”

It was his turn—the words came effortlessly, as if he’d spent his entire life preparing for this moment. “I, Lance, Reader of Emotion and Paladin of the New, do pledge fealty to the Kingdom of Voltron.” His hand glowed brilliant blue, and the knife itself illuminated with pure white light, straining towards the pocket of magic.

They spoke in perfect unison now, magic surging through their veins and out through their mouths. “May this Kingdom last even as the deepest darkness rises—even as the brightest light falls.”

The dagger dipped even lower, even closer the the pocket of swelling magic, and a roar of power flooded Lance, flooded them all.

They yelled, one entity, one mind, one voice.

_“FORM VOLTRON!”_

And light and magic exploded around them.

This ghostlight spawn hadn’t created ordinary ghostlights—it was winds of pure energy, pure magical force, whirling and whipping around, sinking into their skin. The winds were purple, and red, and blue, and yellow, and green—but most important, they were all beautifully bright and as pure as freshly fallen snow.

A current of magic swept into Lance, absorbed into him. He shuddered as it flew into his core, filling the hole the Galran magic had left with something stronger, lighter, purer. He had never felt so powerful and yet so wonderfully light.

Around him, the other four—the other four paladins, he reminded himself—were showing the same awe as the currents whipped around them, rushing into them. Shiro’s scars glowed sky blue, and he moved his arm with almost childish glee—Pidge’s wings had never shone brighter, more brilliant than they’d ever been before—Hunk’s eyes were luminous amber as he raised his arms to the magic, throwing his head back and letting it fly around him—Keith had never looked happier, never seemed more at ease, his ivory hair whipping around him and his eyes shining, just displaying the barest hint of the magic inside.

The winds began to dissipate, flying outward, into the forest—Lance could just barely feel it, through some strange connection, as it flooded prone Galra’s bodies. The minute it touched them, they revived, finally cleansed from Haggar’s poisonous reign. They rejoiced, and Lance rejoiced with them.

The magic never touched the Galra whose hearts were as corrupted as their minds had been; those Galra would never wake up. Lance couldn’t find it in his heart to care; they were the cause of all the needless suffering. _His_ people’s suffering.

He felt a presence at his side, red and fiery, linked inextricably to his mind by some magic he didn’t quite understand, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed.

Keith took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, as if reading his thoughts.

Lance stared at this beautiful, wonderful, reckless, brilliant boy, and he smiled, and leaned down to kiss him. Their lips met—a symphony of color and emotion and magic akin to the Voltric core being released to its fae.

“What was that for?” Keith murmured as they pulled away.

“For love, Samurai,” he replied. “It was for love.”

The púca smiled, eyes faintly glowing with emotion and magic. “I love you, Sharpshooter.”

The words came easily now, sliding off his tongue as if they’d always belonged there. He realized, that even though he’d never said the words exactly, he’d said a thousand other things that spoke them for him. “I love you too, Keith.”

They held each other for a few seconds more before moving to join the other three paladins, forming their circle once again, grasping each others’ hands.

In the center of the circle was a single ghostlight, pure yellow-white, rising steadily.

Lance met the others’ gazes, reveling in their connection, their shared magic surging between them. They were bonded, now—they were family, a family he would’ve never expected but one he would never give up.

They stood together, his familia, and watched the ghostlight dance up through clouds.

The sun dawned with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading through this mammoth thing, like, good Lord. It definitely got away from me (holy heck it's longer than the first Harry Potter book?? How did that even happen?).
> 
> I will possibly be writing an epilogue (and by epilogue I mean lots of fluffy klance, future klance, wedding klance? oooo), but I dunno for sure, depends on if I actually work on the other projects I've got going on or not.  
> (I love this AU and have a few unanswered things to address so it will probably end up happening, I make no promises, however, because I will probably end up breaking them and feeling guilty.)
> 
> EotB (my only ongoing fic because I'm terrible with schedules, as you've probably noticed) is officially on hiatus—I'm not abandoning it, just putting it on hold before I can face it again. I got really stuck in a place I shouldn't've and haven't been able to find the motivation to dig myself out yet, so that's on hold for now. I really appreciate the patience, because Lord knows I have no patience with myself.
> 
> Also, my unofficial name for this AU is the Fae U, which is what I called it in my head almost the entire time I was writing it. I unfortunately find myself amused by my own wit when it's not even that clever. Ah, well.
> 
> Thank you again for getting through this monster (assuming you didn't just skim through to the end). I greatly appreciate it.


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